there was a sort of beauty to the contrast between her own home and the home of the valence family that charlotte had allowed herself to observe in days passed. something not just physical, but emotional as well, on sight alone, that could be observed with a skilled eye. it was this innate feeling charlie had finally settled into capturing as she sat perched with her easel directly in between both houses, cramming the lives of twenty onto the canvas. she’d been so caught up in trying to mimic the trees that littered the background of her painting that she hardly noticed the person standing in the middle of her shot. “you’re going to wind up painted in if you don’t move,” she jested, raising her brush at her company. “and i don’t capture likeness flatteringly.”
A pipe hung from one of William’s hands, smoke spiraling into the chill morning air. He reclined on a stone bench at the edge of their property, his head lolling to the side as he slumped. It had been a long night; he hadn’t been sleeping as well of late. When he had been in Europe, before Henry was born, his days had begun almost at noon, all his meetings occurring then or even later at the dance halls and operas and salons. With such a glittering nightlife as Europe had offered, he had hardly ever needed to taste the day. Since he’d been back though, his nocturnal habits had morphed into something altogether different. Rather than sleeping in his bed, he seemed to just doze when he could, and almost never in the bedroom that he had yet to feel like his anyway. It wasn’t until he heard a throat clearing that he even noticed that there was someone close, sitting bolt upright, his eyes looking around from side to side. “Blast…sorry,” he murmured, standing upright, smoothing out his clothes hurriedly on his long frame.
it felt as though charlie was the only irwin to not account for any run ins with the new neighbors, a seemingly quiet family in an altogether imposing house. being left out of the excitement, of course, bothered her tremendously, as was her nature. not the youngest but yet always feeling she trailed behind. it was with determination that she found herself crossing her property and into the valence’s, without so much as a welcome gift in her grasp. what would a family with such a large estate even have a need for, anyway? the sight of the boy on the bench startled her, clearing her throat as she tried to regain composure. “i thought you were dead,” she chided quietly, though a smile broke onto her face at the disheveled sight of him. sticking her hand out in one jagged ( and quite unladylike ) thrust, charlie met the valance boy’s gaze. she could hear her nannies chiding her already. “i’m charlie irwin. i live in the house over there,” she hiked her free thumb back to her own home, still visible from this yard. “the one with all of the little women? my sister is marrying a valence, you know.” she liked to sound intelligent, informed, but sometimes she feared she came across as childish and unbecoming. this was never more clear than when she was left to introduce herself, without the company of her family, to strangers.
Wild copper tendrils blew in the wind around Winnie’s flushed face as she tromped over logs and fallen leaves that covered the floor of the woods that were close to the Irwin house. The sun hung low in the sky, sending rays of pink and purple out as the last flashes of a dying day. On the far side of the sky, stars had begun to peak out from a curtain of sapphire. Caught up in the twilight walk, Winnie hardly noticed the heaviness of the logs in her arms, nor the lateness as she made her way towards the Irwin house. She stepped carefully over the forest floor, making her way towards the break in the trees as she had since she was but a child. She did not, however, expect to find another person on the other side, looking like some sort of rambling fae as she did with her wild hair and mud-flecked clothes. “I’m so sorry if I frightened you. I didn’t realize how late it had gotten while I was out looking for firewood. I bet I look a sight.”
though charlie didn’t share the same love for the outdoors as most of her sisters, it was hard to deny the beauty of a sunset. she’d spent many a days romping through these same woods, trying her hardest to get lost so that she could begin calling for help, a game of hide and seek that was not voluntary to any other participants. now, however, she knew this grouping of trees like the blueprint for her own home, knew just the right spot to watch golden rays sink into a palette of color. inspiration, or just a distraction from an overwhelming since of growing up. “nonsense,” she smiled at her cousin, hardly even stirring from her spot on the ground, her legs folded beneath her. “what fun are the woods if you don’t get found?” a bit of an inside joke, a nod to the games of hide and seek winnie had undoubtably been roped into before. “i think you look capital.” she drew out the word, biting back a wicked grin. “there will be suitors lining up from here to our door step by the time you make it back. do you need a hand?”
Stepping outside to pick up the paper, Meredith couldn’t help but smile to herself as she noticed her own name beneath an article in the corner of the front page. Looking up she chuckles as she notices another standing nearby, “I haven’t quite reached the headliner stories yet, but I suppose one must appreciate the small triumphs,” she sighed, her pride short-lived as her eyes grazed the name of headlining journalist with envy. “Ambition is such a fickle thing– the very moment I achieve a dream, I become hungry for the next.”
charlotte has always held a particular fondness for the woman who inspired her love for literature, making her return to their household great cause for celebration. she’d hate to admit how hungrily she’d devoured each of her new stories, printed from across the world, when they arrived for her in the post, but reading meredith’s writing felt something like having a personal author weave stories out of the stars before her very eyes. bounding down the steps and plucking the paper from her hands, charlie couldn’t stifle her grin. “what is this one about, then, miss merchant?” her eyes scan the page as she sighs, forlorn. “i wish i could steal some of that ambition. perhaps you’d find joy in completing my most recent work for me. it’s supposed to be a portrait of my father, but i haven’t been able to bring myself to etch in his face.” she shivered dramatically, like the painting was a haunting sight. “it’s okay if it’s not good. i quite like ugly art. it feels as though there’s more heart to it.”
( freya mavor, she/her ) you saw them through the window, and your sure it was CHARLOTTE IRWIN . they are TWENTY FIVE and are UNMARRIED . currently, they are staying at the IRWIN house. they are known to be SANGUINE & SHIFTLESS . they are staying at the house because SHE IS ONE OF THE IRWIN DAUGHTERS .
i’m quite literally fresh out of seeing the film and i have loved the story for ages so i couldn’t resist a lw rp !! muse through the roof !! i’m going to keep charlie’s bio short and sweet but without further ado, my lil romantic ..
the fourth daughter of the irwin family, charlotte was born into a family of love and warmth, her earliest memories curled up by fire with her sisters and a strong sense of belonging, palpable joy.
sickly and frail for most of her childhood, charlie seldom experienced a reckless youth, and perhaps that is why a lack of grace has befallen her at such a late age. her childhood was filled with bedrest, coddling. story books kept her company whether read to her by her sisters or devoured on her own.
though her family is close, the closest thing in the world to her, she sometimes finds herself wondering if there is a wall of separation between her and the other irwin daughters. nothing to fault but lost time, lost time .. she always feels as though she’s catching up, making up for that dreaded lost time. she doesn’t like to mention how ill she once was.
fully recovered from her fevers at fourteen, charlie fell effortlessly into the role of a nuisance, following her sisters around for hours, running off to town on her own. she thrived on playing games with herself by inventing false identities, characters from the stories she had fallen so madly in love with, introducing herself to strangers with an ever changing array of names and histories. above all, she wanted to be interesting .
she loves art in all of it’s forms, written, painted, plucked from strings. tucked under her bed you would find several unfinished paintings, as though it was her signature to leave a work just barely incomplete. in reality, her muse is fickle, much like her ambition and her view of her own future.
she feels the weight that the cusp of adulthood brings like an anvil on her back. charlie fears, above all, a marriage of convenience. she’s an incredibly hopeless romantic, and her family blames all the stories she kept herself so immersed in.
though it’s hard not to coddle the girl who lived so much of her life not knowing if she would ever be well, charlie hates nothing more than being seen as the ‘ sick ’ one. she envisions herself as strong and capable, if only she could find her true passion in life and envision a world outside of her home with her sisters.
