35th Spring, 516AV
“Amelia, you are making a big deal out of this and it truly is not needed.”
”Rubbish!” A childish tantrum flared up inside Amelia, but she managed to calm her temper just long enough to tightly say: ”Mother. Please. Let me do your make up for tonight. Nothing too drastic, just something to…” She winced minutely, drinking in the tired greyness of her mother’s complexion, the dark circles under her eyes, ”… just to clean you up a bit. Like a shiny coin.”
Jona Trisswell huffed and ignored her daughter who continued to flap around her like a panicked little dove. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Amelia, really. You have. This isn’t a date or—”
The younger woman threw her hands up in the air in an exaggerated and dramatic act of surrender. Her eyes became wide with pretend fear. ”Whoa, of course not! Who even said the ‘D’ word?” The truth was, Amelia had. Several times that day and many times over the previous days as well, the word ‘date’ had been on her lips, ever since she caught wind that her mother’s old friend and fellow artist would be visiting the city. ”But this guy… Theo, is it?” she paused to allow her mother an exhausted nod, ”Yes. Theo is visiting and this will be the first time you’ve seen him in – how many years?” She knew the answer of course. Tired mother and her enthused, pushy daughter had had this exact conversation many times over the past three days.
“T—”
”Ten years!” Amelia interrupted, her voice shrill and desperate. Why could her mother not see the true meaning behind Theo’s arrival? Ten years without a single visit from this apparent close friend, just long, secretive letters sent and received every season. And now, so soon after her disgusting father left with that little slut on his arm, Theo had planned to visit Lhavit, for the first time in ten years. It was not a coincidence, even though Jona was quite convinced otherwise. ”He’s coming to see you for the first time in a decade, so soon after learning of what happened with—“ The word father caught in her throat, but not out of sadness but utter and unconcealed rage. Swallowing her anger, Amelia continued briskly, ”you can’t say it’s just a coincidence, mother. He’s coming to… to woo you!”
Jona snorted. She had never been wooed in all her life, not when she was an art student at Zeltiva University, and certainly not by Cliff Trisswell, who she had later married and been betrayed by. As a young woman, she had been too busy with her art and her equally dedicated friends to bother about romance. Oh, there had been kisses and disappointing sexual escapades, of course. In fact, Theo had been one of her more frequent lovers, but the two had never paired up officially. They were too similar, with their habit of reading too much into things and overthinking every little interaction between them. “Theo is just a friend.” She said absently, but the older woman had become distracted by something; her appearance.
To Amelia’s credit, she had not been wrong when she claimed her mother needed to be cleaned up. Her reflection was a woman she barely recognised: lines, dark circles, greying skin. She looked the epitome of tired and old. Recoiling, Jona considered how the last time she saw Theo she had been a whole ten years younger, the mother of a demanding child but nevertheless a talented artist. He had taken two of her paintings with him when he left Lhavit, and had sold them less than a season later. What did she have to show him now? Nothing. She had not painted a single thing since Cliff Trisswell declared he was leaving her, and had instead spent her time crying and staring miserably out the window.
She could not face Theo like this.
“Fine. Make up. Nothing too fancy.” Her green eyes still on the mirror, Jona clawed a hand through her matted hair, once blonde like Amelia’s but now more silver than gold. “And maybe a plait in my hair, too.”
Amelia beamed, nodded and sharply instructed her mother to sit down on the stool before the mirror. And then she was off, hurrying to her bed and yanking up the bag of cosmetics she kept protectively by her bedside. Upon returning to her mother, she stood beside Jonan ad inspected both of their reflections in the mirror.
Mother and daughter looked uncannily alike, both with bright green eyes, similar hair (ignoring Jona’s greys), sharp chins and petite noses. Despite their fundamental similarities, aging had set the two women apart. Amelia, in truth, was abolished at how her mother’s complexion had changed in recent times. Yes, some of that was due to aging, but more so thanks to her father’s betrayal. Jona had been left devastated and shocked by his adultery, and the emotional turmoil had taken its toll on her appearance.
Never will I let a man’s presence of absence effect how I look..
”You need moisturiser, first.” Amelia said softly, her demeanour and attitude dissolving away now she had become victorious with her mother’s tired defeat. She opened a small tub of a white, cream liquid which she subsequently scooped onto two fingers. Lightly she dabbed her mother’s forehead and cheeks, leaving behind a blob of moisturiser with each prod. With a circular motion of her fingertips, she began to rub in the cream. ”This will help with your wrinkles . And will make it easier for me to put the make-up on.” She made sure to spread the moisturiser over every inch of Jona’s face, paying close attention to the circles under her eyes and the lines beside her nostrils.
Part of Amelia felt pity towards her mother. Whilst Jona had never been the most charismatic of women, lacking the bolshiness and confidence her daughter had in spades, she had never been a defeatist either. Until now, of course. She had allowed her life and appearance to unravel, taking to traipsing around town feeling sorry for herself rather than getting on with life and painting.
A far larger part of Amelia felt pity towards herself. With her father’s income vanishing with him, and Jona’s artistic inspiration shrivelling up like a prune, it had fallen to her to find employment. She had done so with little trouble, but the full weight of earning money and paying for things nevertheless rested wholly on her shoulders. Cliff had taken with him the most valuable for his possessions, leaving only tat and junk for his wife and daughter to sift through. They had sold what they could, fetching a meagre price for his left over suits and artefacts. But the money, and that gained from the selling of their old, luxury home, had been gobbled up by their purchasing of their new abode and the furniture within it. In her own words, Amelia felt as if she had sold a prize-winning stud for a three-legged donkey.
And so her enthusiasm for her mother’s visitor – he would be arriving in less than a bell! – was not entirely selfless. He was a well to do artist, big in the world of people who sat sipping coffee whilst clicking their fingers as someone on a poorly-lit stage read a dramatic poem. Amelia herself had only a casual interest in art, but she appreciated the income it generated much more passionately. If Theo Barker was the answer to her mother’s upset and Amelia’s tight financial situation… Well, he would be welcomed with open arms.
“Amelia, you are making a big deal out of this and it truly is not needed.”
”Rubbish!” A childish tantrum flared up inside Amelia, but she managed to calm her temper just long enough to tightly say: ”Mother. Please. Let me do your make up for tonight. Nothing too drastic, just something to…” She winced minutely, drinking in the tired greyness of her mother’s complexion, the dark circles under her eyes, ”… just to clean you up a bit. Like a shiny coin.”
Jona Trisswell huffed and ignored her daughter who continued to flap around her like a panicked little dove. “You’ve got the wrong idea, Amelia, really. You have. This isn’t a date or—”
The younger woman threw her hands up in the air in an exaggerated and dramatic act of surrender. Her eyes became wide with pretend fear. ”Whoa, of course not! Who even said the ‘D’ word?” The truth was, Amelia had. Several times that day and many times over the previous days as well, the word ‘date’ had been on her lips, ever since she caught wind that her mother’s old friend and fellow artist would be visiting the city. ”But this guy… Theo, is it?” she paused to allow her mother an exhausted nod, ”Yes. Theo is visiting and this will be the first time you’ve seen him in – how many years?” She knew the answer of course. Tired mother and her enthused, pushy daughter had had this exact conversation many times over the past three days.
“T—”
”Ten years!” Amelia interrupted, her voice shrill and desperate. Why could her mother not see the true meaning behind Theo’s arrival? Ten years without a single visit from this apparent close friend, just long, secretive letters sent and received every season. And now, so soon after her disgusting father left with that little slut on his arm, Theo had planned to visit Lhavit, for the first time in ten years. It was not a coincidence, even though Jona was quite convinced otherwise. ”He’s coming to see you for the first time in a decade, so soon after learning of what happened with—“ The word father caught in her throat, but not out of sadness but utter and unconcealed rage. Swallowing her anger, Amelia continued briskly, ”you can’t say it’s just a coincidence, mother. He’s coming to… to woo you!”
Jona snorted. She had never been wooed in all her life, not when she was an art student at Zeltiva University, and certainly not by Cliff Trisswell, who she had later married and been betrayed by. As a young woman, she had been too busy with her art and her equally dedicated friends to bother about romance. Oh, there had been kisses and disappointing sexual escapades, of course. In fact, Theo had been one of her more frequent lovers, but the two had never paired up officially. They were too similar, with their habit of reading too much into things and overthinking every little interaction between them. “Theo is just a friend.” She said absently, but the older woman had become distracted by something; her appearance.
To Amelia’s credit, she had not been wrong when she claimed her mother needed to be cleaned up. Her reflection was a woman she barely recognised: lines, dark circles, greying skin. She looked the epitome of tired and old. Recoiling, Jona considered how the last time she saw Theo she had been a whole ten years younger, the mother of a demanding child but nevertheless a talented artist. He had taken two of her paintings with him when he left Lhavit, and had sold them less than a season later. What did she have to show him now? Nothing. She had not painted a single thing since Cliff Trisswell declared he was leaving her, and had instead spent her time crying and staring miserably out the window.
She could not face Theo like this.
“Fine. Make up. Nothing too fancy.” Her green eyes still on the mirror, Jona clawed a hand through her matted hair, once blonde like Amelia’s but now more silver than gold. “And maybe a plait in my hair, too.”
Amelia beamed, nodded and sharply instructed her mother to sit down on the stool before the mirror. And then she was off, hurrying to her bed and yanking up the bag of cosmetics she kept protectively by her bedside. Upon returning to her mother, she stood beside Jonan ad inspected both of their reflections in the mirror.
Mother and daughter looked uncannily alike, both with bright green eyes, similar hair (ignoring Jona’s greys), sharp chins and petite noses. Despite their fundamental similarities, aging had set the two women apart. Amelia, in truth, was abolished at how her mother’s complexion had changed in recent times. Yes, some of that was due to aging, but more so thanks to her father’s betrayal. Jona had been left devastated and shocked by his adultery, and the emotional turmoil had taken its toll on her appearance.
Never will I let a man’s presence of absence effect how I look..
”You need moisturiser, first.” Amelia said softly, her demeanour and attitude dissolving away now she had become victorious with her mother’s tired defeat. She opened a small tub of a white, cream liquid which she subsequently scooped onto two fingers. Lightly she dabbed her mother’s forehead and cheeks, leaving behind a blob of moisturiser with each prod. With a circular motion of her fingertips, she began to rub in the cream. ”This will help with your wrinkles . And will make it easier for me to put the make-up on.” She made sure to spread the moisturiser over every inch of Jona’s face, paying close attention to the circles under her eyes and the lines beside her nostrils.
Part of Amelia felt pity towards her mother. Whilst Jona had never been the most charismatic of women, lacking the bolshiness and confidence her daughter had in spades, she had never been a defeatist either. Until now, of course. She had allowed her life and appearance to unravel, taking to traipsing around town feeling sorry for herself rather than getting on with life and painting.
A far larger part of Amelia felt pity towards herself. With her father’s income vanishing with him, and Jona’s artistic inspiration shrivelling up like a prune, it had fallen to her to find employment. She had done so with little trouble, but the full weight of earning money and paying for things nevertheless rested wholly on her shoulders. Cliff had taken with him the most valuable for his possessions, leaving only tat and junk for his wife and daughter to sift through. They had sold what they could, fetching a meagre price for his left over suits and artefacts. But the money, and that gained from the selling of their old, luxury home, had been gobbled up by their purchasing of their new abode and the furniture within it. In her own words, Amelia felt as if she had sold a prize-winning stud for a three-legged donkey.
And so her enthusiasm for her mother’s visitor – he would be arriving in less than a bell! – was not entirely selfless. He was a well to do artist, big in the world of people who sat sipping coffee whilst clicking their fingers as someone on a poorly-lit stage read a dramatic poem. Amelia herself had only a casual interest in art, but she appreciated the income it generated much more passionately. If Theo Barker was the answer to her mother’s upset and Amelia’s tight financial situation… Well, he would be welcomed with open arms.
