SPINDLCS ⸺ dependent writing blog associated with grimsbyfm , featuring rosamond irons + the tale of the cursed princess , sleeping beauty. penned by diana.
during the valentine’s day festival , rosamond was notably absent , despite it being one of her favorite holidays , one all about love. the entire night prior she’d become an insomniac and far too ill to attend the following day ( a combination of dizziness + a slight cold ) she’s been rather ill-tempered about missing the events.
business dinners, as it seemed to rosamond, were nothing more than a way to tastefully display procured wealth in such a manner that everyone who sat at the large bocote wood table should do nothing but smile and nod when appropriate. sitting across from her father’s peculiar company gave her the sensation of wearing a corset that was pulled tight by the cream colored ribbons until breathing became a chore — uncomfortable. she made little eye contact and took to fiddle the silver spoon around a bowl of soup in front of her while the man at the head of the table with a lawyer’s grin and a nice navy blue dinner suit told the tale of his origin story. both he thought to be rather impressive, both memories, despite how many times the former had been shared to present company alike. under her breath rosamond would recite the words along with him, the same tedious pauses to build up to the climax of a story which everyone sat in the outcome of. a grand house.
‘ don’t play with your food, ’ reached rosamond’s ear in a whisper-shout, the sort that all mothers specialized in through gritted teeth and a smile.
her mother, a rather friendly woman, held much of the same physical display of wealth that her husband, mr. irons, did. she was the sort who ran off to powder her nose in the bathroom by the hour and come back with something about the physical perfected that otherwise would have gone unnoticed throughout the evening. mrs. irons was also the sort to move perfectly polished silver just an inch to the right, less it be imperfectly aligned with the rest of the cutlery.
“ how does a theatre director end up living in such an expensive neighborhood? ” the wide eyes of her parents and the live-in chef looked to rose, mouths ajar. the fair-haired girl held herself the way one might expect, with a sense of defiance and a shrug as nonchalant as the way she reached for the lead crystal glass filled with a red liquid in front of her. “ since we are on the subject, ” rosamond pried innocently enough. she touched her lips to the edge of the glass and took a small sip of raspberry cordial. she glanced to her mother, her father and to the guest. “ i’d imagine a theatre in this town wouldn’t be sold out nightly. ”
✧ . 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙰𝚁𝙺 𝙳𝙸𝙳 𝚂𝚃𝙾𝙿 𝙹𝙴𝙼𝙸𝙼𝙰 𝙸𝙽 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙲𝙺𝚂, 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝚃 𝙼𝚄𝙲𝙷 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝚃𝚁𝚄𝙴. but while most would have been offended, frozen by the sudden and ICY rejection, jemima was instead flattered. “my reputation preceeds me, apparently,” she mused, unable to suppress a grin.
“i DON’T do magic tricks, though.” smile suddenly vanished, replaced by a look of utter disgust. “gross." no, that was someone else's job. she'd never touch the hobby now. magic and juggling made her skin crawl. circuses and children's birthday parties could be HELL. if only she’d had the good sense to be born someone more interesting, maybe she could have undergone exposure therapy as a party princess. probably for the best, all things considered.
"i just wanted to say that i really like your outfit.” smile quirked up her lips once more as she inclined in a partial bow, edging away from rosamond with hands raised in dramatic surrender. “that's all.”
she had the sort of eyes that were large and round and could never appear menacing even if her face turned pink and metaphorical steam came out her ears. it was to be said, there was something very of the doll about rosamond and when she looked to the brunette with eyes narrow and full of incessant, protracted blinks that rendered her suspicious in nature to the words offered, it remained. to have such an imposing and intimidating presence might not have been a gift bestowed upon her as a child once upon a time, but as such, the ability to readily distinguish sheepish words true motive also remained an unnurtured aptitude.
“ my outfit? ” she asked mildly. rosamond’s hands slipped over the warmed fabric of her skirt and she sat up a bit straighter. ‘ much more lady-like ’ the tune rung in her ear much like the jingle of a commercial that had become something of a torture to unwillingly commit to memory. “ it’s from one of the shops. ” ‘ in town ’ were thought to be two words of little importance as every resident had about as much travel experience in this world as the story of that one princess trapped in a tower and saved by long locks and a dashing man. “ so thank you. ” in the tense pause that followed, rosamond considered a compliment — something about her attire, but succumbed to another. “ you have a very dramatic face, expressive. ”
“ do you want to do something fun tonight? ” the fair-haired young woman pried her gaze from the man the two had claimed as the subject of conversation. who was he before grimsby? rose had placed bets on a prince, but that was simply because she found his appearance favorable. the hopeless romantic trait hadn’t been lost to her, even in grimsby — maybe it was even worse in this world. “ or maybe a knight. ” the two conversations ran parallel, much like the lives both had come to endure, the one in the enchanted forest and this one. “ either way, i bet he’s one of the good ones. ” another glance had been stolen in the direction the stranger had disappeared to before undivided attention had been placed on the princess. “ i know the tiecoon bar is sort of disgusting really, ” where her high standards were concerned, “ but i heard they have a new drink. an appl — ” rosamond’s words fell as quickly as the fanciful expression held. sometimes it was so easy to forget one of her dearest friends had more in common than just a job occupation, but a shared history of sleeping curse victims. “ just drinks. ”
oh boy , did i make a mess up. i assumed i could switch from legacy to beta after the first initial post but that’s very wrong , so i'll just be tagging replies in a new post with beta for everyone who uses it.
a creak in the floorboards petrified rose, unable to move even the slightest with the silence that followed. an eternity enveloped by the darkness, to hide daring escapades that never would have been attempted in the light of day. dare she had disturbed her parents asleep upstairs the entire rouse would have been exposed. another step gingerly taken had made the blonde far more mindful of the path taken until the window was reached, creaked open and confronted with a rush of the cold night air. her pale hands pressed against the window’s ledge with an attempted balance act on her tiptoes to glance below to the ginger haired girl. “ irene, ” a whisper shout beckoned the other closer, her hand outstretched to reach for the other, a helping hand down once the blonde had reached the first floor.
she’d never been explicitly told why, but rose’s father, once upon a time called king stefan, never cared for irene’s antics, the stories of goblins and monsters that lurked about to the very place the two planned to explore that night. sort of. “ i’m not missing another party. ” despite how juvenile the whole thing felt, to sneak out at night for a party in the woods. maybe it was just an excuse to do something that wasn’t inherently honest, but defiant. “ just be careful, ” rosamond warned. too close to the estate’s walls and a prick from a thorn bush could be expected, namely the space under her bedroom window and the cast iron wall trellis beside it. “ we should have made a bed of pillows. ” the perfectly cut grass below suddenly became likened to a bed rocks, a daring jump rosamond had become wary of.
had the front doors security system not been activated the use of it would have been far easier than the only window with a broken sensor.
the irony that the luxury of a downgrade should never be afforded to rosamond in grimsby hadn’t been lost on her. there, hidden amongst the dense woods, stood a cottage abandoned. ivy and roses encased the home with thorn steams that would twist and turn around every appendage much like a cocoon, unable to see past the exterior’s lacked charms afforded to some long ago, or perhaps this was a trick by the curse. a reminder to the once princess aurora of adolescence long passed. a simpler time when being a princess was a laughable absurdity and childish escapades were all that awaited her. she’d returned to that in some ways, no longer ranked by a princess status but the daughter of a lawyer, an untrustworthy one at that.
golden hour was especially favorable to the cottage, the way the sunlight cast upon it just right, like something out of a fairytale. so she would come again, the same time, sometimes earlier when the sun was at its highest, but always often enough that rose would take notice of anything that seemed out of place. nothing could be more obvious just then. rosamond’s footsteps slowed, the path beneath her layered with twigs that would snap at the slightest pressure left her to take to the unmarked terrain where branches and plants guised the blonde’s prying eyes from the stranger she watched. appearances alone might have led rosamond to believe he was a villain, but grimsby had a tendency to punish the good and favor the bad and her very black and white view of good and bad placed him into one category and one alone. but how quickly all had been forgotten the moment a wrong step sounded a crack! and a breath held, would he notice? would she have an explanation?
one thing to be said about the curse, it left rosamond with newfound feelings, sometimes ill feelings towards certain individuals — one such individual she’d been certain to turn away from. pivoted on the park bench seat, the blonde had kept a sullen expression, an unspoken warning for the tall brunette ( from the opposite side of the tracks ) to not dare venture too close, less rose wanted to be on the other end of a monologue again. sometimes kindness hadn’t been the answer, not in grimsby. tolerance for things had long been left in the enchanted forest where the whimsical notion of a ‘ happily ever after ’ danced around her thoughts much like the fairies and creatures of the forest. in a word, princess aurora was in the midst of an internal war with rosmand irons, both one in the same, but one was a fairytale, a fleeting notion that felt like a past self at times in such a world that was considered punishment just to endure.
her hands, cold to the touch, folded on her lap before rosamond had committed the grave sin of eye contact with the thespian. if she could have gotten up to walk away at that moment it wouldn’t take a second thought to do, but here rose found herself at the mercy of her own dizziness and thus the participant of an unwilling audience of one. “ i don’t want to listen to whatever monologue or see whatever magic trick you have, ” she warned before the other could come too close.
following all the perfectly splendid ideas ( thobm ref ) i’ve seen , please reply below with the name of a film or poem + i’ll write up a starter based on the title !!
( HANNAH DODD . FEMALE. SHE + HER . TWENTY-SEVEN ) AURORA from sleeping beauty has found themselves trapped in grimsby. though here they go by ROSAMOND IRONS . they reside in sumner heights, and have been passing time working as a SECRETARY at ( SPINDLE & IRONS LAW [ her father’s law office ] ) . according to the people around town, they're often seen HUMMING TO HERSELF AS SHE WALKS AROUND DAYDREAMING , and they've also mentioned that they're just as - self-absorbed & fanciful, but as + angelic & benevolent as ever. + cheeks blushed a shade of rose , cream white silk sheets tossed about an unmade bed , a haunting melody hummed , a yawn escaping past parted lips mid conversation . always seems to remind people of them. i wonder how well they'll do around here.
BEFORE THE CURSE
in past times it might be said that the arrival of a daughter, the only child to a king a queen, would have been a glorious day. somewhat of a miracle. longed for, in fact, as there was little hope the queen might conceive, but some might also say a curse had followed the king for his past doings. fate was not always kind. on the day of the grand feast to welcome aurora into the world, all had been invited — all but one. golden plates, pristine flowers without a blemish or wilted petal, music that would have gone long into the night, and lights that illuminated the night sky, it was a sight to behold. a feast celebrated with all its splendor, which is why when it had drawn to an end and gifts had been bestowed, the princess had fallen victim to the sins of her father. a curse! the uninvited guest . . .
well, the rest of the story had become legend around her father’s kingdom. whisked away in the dead of night by those entrusted to keep her safe. tucked away in a cottage far off into the forest, aurora grew up with rose colored lenses tinting her world. prepared for everything but the ways of people and the interactions that came with that. naturally, she’d be susceptible to the societal manipulation of trust and ideas of love, with her own intuition something she had yet to understand. stories had given her a very black and white view of what good and evil was. life was far simpler tucked away in that cottage before she learned the truth. after aurora had awoken from the sleeping curse, the princess found herself unable to fully trust most people she surrounded herself with. but good would always win, wouldn’t it? it was something she had to reckon with, that maybe good and evil wasn’t always so black and white, maybe there was a grey area to this happy eve after . . .
when the tale that the curse had begun to spread across the lands, aurora once more fell back into the mindset that ‘ the damned cannot be saved ’ the evil will remain evil, in a word, maybe her father had been right all along. it was as simple as that.
AFTER THE CURSE ( 𝘵𝘸 : 𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 )
in grimsby, aurora’s story hadn’t quite been as happily ever after as the enchanted forest has gifted her with, this blissful ignorance . . . rosamond irons was the daughter of a man, an important one, a lawyer who had done what he could to make it to the top much like the kingly counterpart in the enchanted forest.
rose was a sickly child, often lethargic due to anemia that kept her complexion pale and body weak. dizziness and the prospect of fainting was something to watch for and any blood loss, even just a drop from her finger, was a worry. iron in liquid form, kept in a decorative glass bottle, was the only thing that seemed to help; it was because of this that aurora’s father did his best to keep his daughter safe, maybe too safe. he treated her like glass. yet, unlike the kingdom in the enchanted forest, she was given all he could provide to a daughter whose childhood had been missed once upon a time, and she grew to be spoiled. she was given a job at her father’s law firm, spindle & irons, as she couldn’t manage to hold anything else, and always in sight.
with memories of the enchanted forest muddled with those from the curse, aurora finds herself at odds with who she is. there is kindness, a goodness, but it’s far from the textbook version she knows, constantly at odds with the other part of her that has been given all she could desire — all from a father’s guilt.
HEADCANONS
she has a small scar on her index finger in the enchanted forest, it was from the spindle on a spinning wheel, but in grimsby it was from her attempt to mend a tear in her dress by herself.
recently she’s ironically found herself to suffer from insomnia , difficulties sleeping
often daydreaming, funny enough it’s often about her idyllic life in the enchanted forest
in grimsby, she had at one point attempted to take on a job as a seamstress apprentice, but one too many pricks to the finger left her right back under her father’s watchful eye
she’s been eyeing one of the cottages in comfey wood to purchase for herself to help her feel closer to that life she had before
pink roses grow under her bedroom window at her father’s estate, the rose bushes have always made it impossible for her to sneak out, or anyone to sneak in unless they want to be pricked by thrones
her vanity in her bedroom in grimsby is always perfectly set up with all her favorite belongings, usually of the eccentric sort; a gold hand mirror, her favorite lipstick shades, jewelry, etc. she doesn’t like when people mess around with it
there is a stray cat that often vists she’s come to name clementine ( after the sophie masson’s novel )
the irons household is known for throwing quite the parties , but not always inviting everyone , some things never change
LIKES & DISLIKES
favorable: strolls in the gardens, any dessert that has berries in it, dancing, singing, daydreaming, any shade of pink specially for makeup, the idea of love as she’s a hopeless romantic, romance novels and films
unfavorable: being treated like a child, sewing needles, deceitful people, secrets being kept from her
yousharknotpass
janainaart
areudirty
titsay
vaporwave
dailybridgerton
