She wouldn't wear white
Apr. 13th, 2008 12:01 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kolFandom: RegencyAU!Kingdom
Prompts: 31_days: Color-blind & fanfic100: White
Simple, he’d said, simple and to be kept hidden. Neither of these were things Loni was particularly good at or respected, but this was SPECIAL, and for that she would try.
He was such an odd man, a noble with rough hands and no valet, yet he was of the North, and it was no secret they did things differently there, so her observations faded into visions of the dress and what would come after.
It wasn’t for him she toiled long hours into the night, wearied body tilted above the single candle she rationed for covert sewing, hidden from the suspicious eyes of her mother. The grueling march of lines in and out, around and back again, broken only when her hands trembled so hard, she worried of catching the needle full of flesh, rendering tiny stains of Loni upon the gown.
And blood had no business on a wedding gown.
Nor was the endless critique, shears pressed against her lips, visualizing the woman in the pale ivory, for the strange lady, the one who would wear what Loni knew was the finest gown she would ever create for another.
Loni barely knew the woman, but she liked what she witnessed. The flickers of a critical eye lurking beneath those heavy spectacles, the undeniable tilt of the noble bearing, hidden as it was by her ruse as a simple woman, and that fire that flared about her whenever mention of marriage was made. Attracted to that flame, Loni had made many mentions of that forbidden topic, eyes dancing as she waited for the lady Mara to reveal the secret Loni already knew.
But Lady Mara kept her mysteries close, and as much as Loni would love to dive into them, rooting up all the secrets, mysteries did not inspire gowns, nor the feverish devotion to perfection that drove her each night.
For the gown haunted Loni, always lurking on the edges of her eyes, craving completion. But whenever she looked upon the fine gown itself, she was caught by visions of another kind. Daydreams, yet of her and her prince-- of the two strangers and their glorious life together in the north, surrounded with children crowned by bright hair (and hopefully, clothed with the Lady Mara’s fashion sense) with cheeks dusted the bright rose only children of dreams had.
It was in this fantasy that Loni’s dreams she denied herself could take root and grow, nurturing those bright haired children, children who should be her own.
For Loni knew of secretive love, having tended to Tay’s feelings since the tender age of four (much less marrying him, even in jest, at six), and she appreciated the mysteries of Lady Mara and the romantic surprises Lord Deon worked so hard to spring upon his betrothed. How could Loni not appreciate what bound the two together? Or take solace in the love the two strangers fate had brought into Shilton-and-Buford, the feelings that they would have for the rest of their lives? Or sigh happily as she gazed upon the gown, now completed, her eyes bright with the romance her station denied her.
This simple gown would allow a piece of Loni, however slight, into the romance she wished could be her own. For a brief glimpse into love that Loni had sacrificed everything to push away.
Because that tiny piece of her heart refused to give up hope that one day, Loni would stand before the man she loved, in a beautiful gown of her own design, and be bound to his soul for all eternity, their stations be damned.
Only, Loni pressed the shears against her smiling lips, giving in to that tiny piece just this once as the dress took her far away, I wouldn’t wear white.
Prompts: 31_days: Color-blind & fanfic100: White
Simple, he’d said, simple and to be kept hidden. Neither of these were things Loni was particularly good at or respected, but this was SPECIAL, and for that she would try.
He was such an odd man, a noble with rough hands and no valet, yet he was of the North, and it was no secret they did things differently there, so her observations faded into visions of the dress and what would come after.
It wasn’t for him she toiled long hours into the night, wearied body tilted above the single candle she rationed for covert sewing, hidden from the suspicious eyes of her mother. The grueling march of lines in and out, around and back again, broken only when her hands trembled so hard, she worried of catching the needle full of flesh, rendering tiny stains of Loni upon the gown.
And blood had no business on a wedding gown.
Nor was the endless critique, shears pressed against her lips, visualizing the woman in the pale ivory, for the strange lady, the one who would wear what Loni knew was the finest gown she would ever create for another.
Loni barely knew the woman, but she liked what she witnessed. The flickers of a critical eye lurking beneath those heavy spectacles, the undeniable tilt of the noble bearing, hidden as it was by her ruse as a simple woman, and that fire that flared about her whenever mention of marriage was made. Attracted to that flame, Loni had made many mentions of that forbidden topic, eyes dancing as she waited for the lady Mara to reveal the secret Loni already knew.
But Lady Mara kept her mysteries close, and as much as Loni would love to dive into them, rooting up all the secrets, mysteries did not inspire gowns, nor the feverish devotion to perfection that drove her each night.
For the gown haunted Loni, always lurking on the edges of her eyes, craving completion. But whenever she looked upon the fine gown itself, she was caught by visions of another kind. Daydreams, yet of her and her prince-- of the two strangers and their glorious life together in the north, surrounded with children crowned by bright hair (and hopefully, clothed with the Lady Mara’s fashion sense) with cheeks dusted the bright rose only children of dreams had.
It was in this fantasy that Loni’s dreams she denied herself could take root and grow, nurturing those bright haired children, children who should be her own.
For Loni knew of secretive love, having tended to Tay’s feelings since the tender age of four (much less marrying him, even in jest, at six), and she appreciated the mysteries of Lady Mara and the romantic surprises Lord Deon worked so hard to spring upon his betrothed. How could Loni not appreciate what bound the two together? Or take solace in the love the two strangers fate had brought into Shilton-and-Buford, the feelings that they would have for the rest of their lives? Or sigh happily as she gazed upon the gown, now completed, her eyes bright with the romance her station denied her.
This simple gown would allow a piece of Loni, however slight, into the romance she wished could be her own. For a brief glimpse into love that Loni had sacrificed everything to push away.
Because that tiny piece of her heart refused to give up hope that one day, Loni would stand before the man she loved, in a beautiful gown of her own design, and be bound to his soul for all eternity, their stations be damned.
Only, Loni pressed the shears against her smiling lips, giving in to that tiny piece just this once as the dress took her far away, I wouldn’t wear white.
