7KPP Week 2018: Day 6, AU: Modern/Fairytale
This one is not done by the book. Not even close. I am a day late, half of my creation short, and, last but not least, not going with the day’s theme. Not exactly, anyway. There is a fairytale… just no AU. Unless, of course, one considers one of Eloise’s possible endings one.
An experiment with first person narrative… and the first mask I have ever made. It does make sense in context.
The shock writ upon our courturiere’s face was swiftly errased - she was used to displays of extravagance… for all that they usually remained well within the bonds of propriety. This, however…
‘A masque’, I replied, on an unlikely whim to be merciful. Had Gisette done it before me, the results would be much more trying on the woman’s nerves. 'We all miss my late husband greatly, still, the time for mourning is at an end… or will be, in any case, on the night of our fete. Surely, you must miss displaying your rare talents.’
A quick look around her study confirmed my suspicions. Sylviane Fauvet, the long-suffering court seamstress, had surely been expecting this development… preparing for it, at the very least. There were patterns and illustrations pinned to her walls, hand-painted wall-papers pierced, carelessly, to display ball gowns and riding costumes, outfits of bright hues and daring cuts. Upon a vast table in the corner of the room: catalogues and albums, framed miniatures, and richly illuminated books. The dresses we wore upon our backs had been the only red thing in sight.
Beside me, Gisette rolled her eyes. If anything, designing mourning clothes for one of her delicate colouring proved much more taxing on Sylviane’s creativity than anything she had been called upon to do before. After a great many trials and even more numerous errors, and what I imagined to be many tears shed throughout many sleepless nights, the result was more than tolerable. A deep rose, a few shades brighter than what Revarian mourners usually wore - an a colder one, evoking blood spilled upon ice; rubies under the surface of a frozen lake. A shallow concern, one might say, to think of such things after the untimely death of one’s only brother. As for me, I could very well remain in mourning for ten years more. It suited my complexion.
As I mused, Sylviane had overcome her scruples - with practiced ease, I daresay. She had, after all, been at this court far longer than I.
'Of course’, she replied, inclining her head; I found myself surpassing a smile at the thought of how the greying of her hair must have been the result of devising a shade of red that would flatter Gisette, 'I take great pride in serving the royal family with what little talent I possess.’
'And you possess a great deal of it’, the princess replied, all affability, and shot me a pointed glance. I knew her well enough to discern what it meant, and how unnecessary she found my earlier intervention. 'I miss my dear brother, and I always will. Just as my sister the queen will miss her beloved husband. Still, it would be unwise to condemn ourselves to lives of misery and grief. Jarrod was always so full of life. It’s not what he would have wanted for those who have loved him as dearly as we did.’
It is exactly what he would have wanted. Especially for those who 'loved him as dearly as we did’.
'I hadn’t known the late King well. I never meant…’, Sylviane gave an exhasperated sigh. Much more of an artist, that one, than a courtier. I could not blame her. 'Have you a theme in mind, my queen?’
At that, she actually smiled, concerns and intriques forgotten as an opportunity for creation presented itself; choices, again. Creativity. Talent. Something important, something enduring, a surrender to the song of one’s soul. Something to become lost in. I glanced at my sister-in-law, understanding the feeling, the need. I daresay we both did, for all that our way of expressing it was rather different.
'Well then’, the courturiere pointed to one of the books displayed on her table, 'I might have just the thing. Different designs, of course, but the principle would remain…’
An illustration of two girls; one clad in a dress of deepest red, another in stark white, holding hands in the middle of a darkening and foreboding forest, innocence and affection against the ominous atmosphere of their surroundings.
'Snow-white and Rose-red’, I whispered, remembering.
'Just so, my queen. Just so.’
PS. Originally, I was going to do Gisette’s mask, Snow-white - as well. Alas, that would surely take another three days (I started this one on Saturday), if not more, therefore, Eloise’s Rose-red it is. Here’s to canvas, fabric, lacquer, more lacquer, even more lacquer, velvet, faux suede ribbons, wire, cardboard, and glue! ;)
