( it is exceedingly rare for lucy to cry. in truth there is little in her daily life that brings her to TEARS - shielded from most horrors of the world, her UNIVERSE that of gossamer silk, rosewater, sea salt &. sweet poetry. even now as freshly minted DEBUTANTE mingling with every sort of person at balls &. promenades her troubles are few - if any - to an outside observer fortunate enough to catch a GLIMPSE of blonde heiress. pressures she feels are therefore usually unspoken, carried with all the GRACE expected of perfectly trained ingenue. cracks in her PORCELAIN are uncommon … but not unheard of, especially a girl who experiences emotion as deeply as miss westenra. )
( rosebud swathed in pale pinks &. draped in SHIMMERING pearls has narrowly escaped the height of a LIVELY masquerade to the fragrant evergreen depths of a garden. only here - far from the prying gaze of high society - has she ALLOWED herself a moment to breathe, to softly weep. sheer ribbon used as party mask is now crushed within gloved fist beside lace-trimmed handkerchief, VERDANT gaze shut to nighttime beauty of blooming spring. yet she is the most aromatic, most BEGUILING flower in this garden, even as tears run down flushed cheeks. )
( flaxen curls rest against trimmed hedge wall behind stone bench she has chosen as her spot of QUIET escape. noise near her, FOOTSTEPS, alert her to peace finally being disturbed. the speed with which she arranges herself to be proper, PRESENTABLE, is impressive - relaxed seated position is abandoned to stand, straight-backed, tears dabbed away with square of lace &. cotton in her grasp. all of this is done with natural elegance, as is the effortlessly PERFECT curtsy once lucy recognizes she is in the presence of a gentleman. throat is cleared &. song that follows could only come from smiling lips of NYMPHAL vision before him. )
‘ my apologies! i will be on my way if you also wish to enjoy the garden alone, as i have. ‘
