Creative Writing II
Sep. 25th, 2005 04:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
laleiaAnother Futile Exercise in Creative Writing
Notes: Rowan is based on 0004 of eLouai's candybar dollmaker's pre-made dolls.
The night had started out beautifully. Her carefully-chosen gown had enhanced her beauty as she swept down the winding staircase. Admirers had swarmed around her within moments, offering her drinks and begging the honor of having a dance with her. She had reveled in the attention and had behaved quite properly as befitting her station. Even Maman had not found fault with her actions. She had even been generous and sent a couple of her own admirers over to cheer up her unfortunately less well-received sister.
But just as she was about to drift close enough to the Prince so that he would notice her, so that this evening wasn't wasted, she came in.
Rowan had no idea who that upstart of a girl had been, but she had certainly captured everyone's attention. Her blue dress appeared to have been sewn with threads of pure silver, encrusted with sapphires and apparently-priceless gems (that were probably fake) and her shoes shimmered in the light (with an awful glare, too!). Despite the girl's dazzling costume, she had obviously attended few balls. Her posture screamed timidity, her first steps tentative.
And then, to Rowan's shock (as well as everybody else's), the Prince stepped forward to personally greet her. Her! A nobody who had not even been announced, whose name, rank and station were a complete mystery. Luckily, Rowan was quick-witted. Before the Prince could take another step, Rowan grabbed his arm and caught his attention. She knew that the action was far too forward, and Maman would scold her bitterly later, but she could not let this opportunity to escape because of some late arrival.
"Yes?" The Prince's voice was cool, impatient.
"Your Highness, I beg pardon. I have been remiss in not introducing myself earlier, but I'm afraid I was occupied." She put on her most coyly apologetic smile.
The Prince's eyes flicked over the courtiers who had previous been amassed around her and put on a courtly, bored, smile. "It is of no matter," he said, before turning to catch up with the dratted girl (who was now surrounded by her own crowd of admirers).
"But no," she said, her voice almost breaking out of its normally dulcet tones in her haste. "I wanted to wish you a happy twenty-first year, as that is the purpose of this ball."
His Highness's face was beginning to show irritation, and Rowan's heart sank. "Thank you, but I have business elsewhere."
Time for her last resort, Rowan thought grimly. "Highness, might I be so forward as to ask for a dance later on?" Maman always scolded her for being forward, but even she did not deny that it had its usefulness occasionally. Often, those shocked by her boldness could not help but be intrigued by it as well.
The Prince gave her a considering look, and she held her breath. Finally, he sighed. "If I agree to dance with you tomorrow night, will you let me alone?" he half-growled.
"Of course, Highness," she agreed immediately, sweeping a deep curtsy (one she had been practicing for a while) that allowed her hair (her best feature) to fall into her face. By the time she rose from her curtsy, however, the Prince had already left.
"Tsk, tsk," a familiar voice said behind her.
Rowan stiffened and turned to see Lord Riordan, the man she had once been betrothed to when she was a small child. (That was, of course, before Father gambled away all of their money and Maman had been forced to remarry into the bourgeois.) "Lord Riordan," she said curtly, inclining her head in a nod.
"What, no curtsy for your childhood love?" he asked in a falsely jovial tone.
Rowan sifted through all possible replies before deciding to remain silent. There were some things one just didn't say in polite company, after all.
"That's a nice gown," Lord Riordan continued. "How much did your precious Maman have to pawn to purchase it?"
Rowan shook with fury for a few seconds before turning away. It was better to leave him than to make a spectacle.
"He doesn't like redheads, you know," he said as she was about to rejoin her much-reduced crowd of admirers. Rowan paused mid-step. "He likes blondes, like that delectable mystery lady with the sapphire dress."
Rowan found her eyes drawn to the girl she was determined to officially refer to as Bane Of Her Life. Her silver-blue dress and shy profile were completely hidden by the unrelenting admirers for a few moments before the Prince himself pulled her out of the crowd for a dance.
Rowan's last words to Lord Riordan that night were, "I can but try."
Notes: Rowan is based on 0004 of eLouai's candybar dollmaker's pre-made dolls.
The night had started out beautifully. Her carefully-chosen gown had enhanced her beauty as she swept down the winding staircase. Admirers had swarmed around her within moments, offering her drinks and begging the honor of having a dance with her. She had reveled in the attention and had behaved quite properly as befitting her station. Even Maman had not found fault with her actions. She had even been generous and sent a couple of her own admirers over to cheer up her unfortunately less well-received sister.
But just as she was about to drift close enough to the Prince so that he would notice her, so that this evening wasn't wasted, she came in.
Rowan had no idea who that upstart of a girl had been, but she had certainly captured everyone's attention. Her blue dress appeared to have been sewn with threads of pure silver, encrusted with sapphires and apparently-priceless gems (that were probably fake) and her shoes shimmered in the light (with an awful glare, too!). Despite the girl's dazzling costume, she had obviously attended few balls. Her posture screamed timidity, her first steps tentative.
And then, to Rowan's shock (as well as everybody else's), the Prince stepped forward to personally greet her. Her! A nobody who had not even been announced, whose name, rank and station were a complete mystery. Luckily, Rowan was quick-witted. Before the Prince could take another step, Rowan grabbed his arm and caught his attention. She knew that the action was far too forward, and Maman would scold her bitterly later, but she could not let this opportunity to escape because of some late arrival.
"Yes?" The Prince's voice was cool, impatient.
"Your Highness, I beg pardon. I have been remiss in not introducing myself earlier, but I'm afraid I was occupied." She put on her most coyly apologetic smile.
The Prince's eyes flicked over the courtiers who had previous been amassed around her and put on a courtly, bored, smile. "It is of no matter," he said, before turning to catch up with the dratted girl (who was now surrounded by her own crowd of admirers).
"But no," she said, her voice almost breaking out of its normally dulcet tones in her haste. "I wanted to wish you a happy twenty-first year, as that is the purpose of this ball."
His Highness's face was beginning to show irritation, and Rowan's heart sank. "Thank you, but I have business elsewhere."
Time for her last resort, Rowan thought grimly. "Highness, might I be so forward as to ask for a dance later on?" Maman always scolded her for being forward, but even she did not deny that it had its usefulness occasionally. Often, those shocked by her boldness could not help but be intrigued by it as well.
The Prince gave her a considering look, and she held her breath. Finally, he sighed. "If I agree to dance with you tomorrow night, will you let me alone?" he half-growled.
"Of course, Highness," she agreed immediately, sweeping a deep curtsy (one she had been practicing for a while) that allowed her hair (her best feature) to fall into her face. By the time she rose from her curtsy, however, the Prince had already left.
"Tsk, tsk," a familiar voice said behind her.
Rowan stiffened and turned to see Lord Riordan, the man she had once been betrothed to when she was a small child. (That was, of course, before Father gambled away all of their money and Maman had been forced to remarry into the bourgeois.) "Lord Riordan," she said curtly, inclining her head in a nod.
"What, no curtsy for your childhood love?" he asked in a falsely jovial tone.
Rowan sifted through all possible replies before deciding to remain silent. There were some things one just didn't say in polite company, after all.
"That's a nice gown," Lord Riordan continued. "How much did your precious Maman have to pawn to purchase it?"
Rowan shook with fury for a few seconds before turning away. It was better to leave him than to make a spectacle.
"He doesn't like redheads, you know," he said as she was about to rejoin her much-reduced crowd of admirers. Rowan paused mid-step. "He likes blondes, like that delectable mystery lady with the sapphire dress."
Rowan found her eyes drawn to the girl she was determined to officially refer to as Bane Of Her Life. Her silver-blue dress and shy profile were completely hidden by the unrelenting admirers for a few moments before the Prince himself pulled her out of the crowd for a dance.
Rowan's last words to Lord Riordan that night were, "I can but try."
