⤳ @faentine, 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦, asked: ‹ i don’t have many friends. most of them are pretend. ›
she holds a dress up, inspecting it at every seam, enjoying the feel of the cloth against her palms which hover against the most delicate parts of the silk with a light and gentle touch. as fantine speaks, she holds alice's full attention, as she delicately begins to fold the finished piece up, placing it neatly on the table between them. all the while she offers glances at fantine, increasingly sympathetic before veering a little jovial. “ i'd offer you some sort of comfort about all this, like i'm your friend, but i can't be very sure that i could guarantee i'm not pretend. ” she looks on at the girl with a widespread warmth to her smile, a sincerity in her quiet tone. it drops after a moment, just a brief one, as she becomes conscious of the idea: real or not? she tries to be subtle in her investigation, casually dipping her gaze to peer down at her hand, wiggling her fingers and watching at the movement disrupts the fabric of the dress she'd just set down. that feels like it ought to be a good sign, but she can't say for certain ... she returns her eyes to meet fantine's and considers, just fleetingly, asking if she meant that unreal-ness was a perquisite for companionship. my god, am i an 𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛? a 𝑓𝑖𝑔𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡? a 𝑑𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑚 by some sweet-faced seamstress to pass the day by? am i here to be friendly? am i completely unrealized! how fantastical ... the horror slowly slips into folly and she brings her comforting smile back. “ but if i am, then, i suppose at least i was well-designed to the task. ”