88th Spring, 516AV
Amelia was hunting.
And like any good huntress, she employed a method to improve the likelihood of her making a successful kill: divide and conquer.
She had sectioned off part of the field, narrowing down the area her selected prey might be found in and thus increasing her chances of coming out victorious. She had even employed the services of a helper, to filter out the weak and lame so she could focus on the plumpest, healthiest of prey.
Her eyes were sharp and critical, watching her comrades’ every move as they herded and swept the potential victims into two herds. Neither of them could afford a mistake at this critical point
“No no no!” She barked, jabbing out a finger towards the timid-looking woman who was wrestling with a mannequin almost as large as herself. “Didn’t you hear me? I said this was a wedding. White material is needed white! That’s ivory, you dolt!”
He words were harsh and brutal, but Amelia held no prisoners when it came to hunting out a material to make a dress out of. She too great pride in her designs, and only the best would do. “Sorry Amelia.” The woman murmured, her cheeks flushing and her teeth grazing nervously on her bottom lip. The mannequin, which was swathed inwhite ivory taffeta, was lumbered to the left side of the room, where the other rejected materials had been unceremoniously dumped.
Amelia’s greedy eyes were focused on the other side of the room, which was a world of delicate white lace and silk. Dozens of rolls of material were laid preciously out on top of the several tables that Amelia (though more her unfortunate assistant) had pushed together to create a large working space for the fashionista. She licked her lips hungrily, a lioness eyeballing a juicy deer that was ripe for the killing. “That’s okay, Isobel. I know I can be demanding, but it’s only because I want the best.”
The girl made a feeble noise that was intended to argue against Amelia’s declaration of being a diva, but Isobel knew better than to disagree with the seamstress. Amelia Trisswell was a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, armed with a sharp tongue and an eye that seemed to be gifted in picking out the traits or features you were most self-conscious about. Within the first thirty ticks of them meeting that evening, Amelia had identified Isobel’s chin, eyebrows, height and posture in a single sentence (“Well, I suppose the only way to balance out that chin is with those eyebrows, but do stand up straight, a girl like you can’t afford to lose precious inches from slouching!”). When this sudden cruelty had bought tears to Isobel’s eyes, Amelia had given a smell tsk and commented further on Isobel’s emotionality (“Oh, don’t start with the tears, I’m far too exhausted. People are going to say things much worse to you than that, and I’m family.”)
Some petchin’ family, Isobel had thought bitterly as she watched her cousin flounce off into the store, humming merrily away to herself and completely oblivious to the severe insults she had just delivered to an already self-conscious thirteen-year-old girl. They were not close, the two cousins, and on Isobel’s account. Amelia was not only intimidating, but seem out rightly cruel at times. She seemed to take great pleasure in picking apart other peoples’ appearances, with no care or interest in how it made them feel. And though she did not appear to appreciate how blessed she was in terms of natural prettiness or grace, Amelia gave the impression that whatever good looks she did possess were of her own effort, and nothing to do with her father’s impressive bone structure or her mother’s pretty eyes.
Ah, the eyes: the single trait shared between Isobel and her tyrant of a cousin. They were also shared between their mothers, who were sisters. Amelia’s mother Jona was three years older than Juliette, but they had been close as girls. When Jona married Cliff – a wealthy foreigner who would sire Amelia – a distance had grown between them. Isobel remembered how her mother would sigh and sway at the memory of her beloved sister, lamenting the close geographical distance but vast emotional. When Cliff decided to run off with a girl barely older than Isobel was at the time, the young girl remembered feeling smug. Her own parents’ marriage was perfectly well, a humble and romantic relationship that had culminated in three children and fresh roses always being placed on the dining room table. Oh, how the mighty would fall without Cliff’s healthy income and lavish lifestyle!
Of course Isobel’s smugness had avenged her in the form of Amelia. Those bi-yearly meetings, which had been filled with awkward silences and humdrum conversations, were suddenly replaced with weekly lunches, dinners and even breakfasts. The girls were expected to play nicely whilst Jona and Juliette filled each other in on their lives. And now Isobel was expected to help her bully of a cousin work, simply because she had made the casual comment of that woman’s dress is nice to her mother. Juliette had been delighted in this apparent shared interest between the cousins, stating that Isobel must simply ask Amelia for any guidance in the fashion industry! When Isobel backtracked and explained that she really had no interest in such a mundane and pointless venture, her mother had interpreted honesty with shyness, and instead took it upon herslef to organise a cousin day out! for Isobel and Amelia.
And here I am. Isobel thought miserably as she tugged yet another roll of material to her cousin.
“Nope, no way! That’s the wrong shade of white. Totally wrong! Are you blind?”
Amelia was hunting.
And like any good huntress, she employed a method to improve the likelihood of her making a successful kill: divide and conquer.
She had sectioned off part of the field, narrowing down the area her selected prey might be found in and thus increasing her chances of coming out victorious. She had even employed the services of a helper, to filter out the weak and lame so she could focus on the plumpest, healthiest of prey.
Her eyes were sharp and critical, watching her comrades’ every move as they herded and swept the potential victims into two herds. Neither of them could afford a mistake at this critical point
“No no no!” She barked, jabbing out a finger towards the timid-looking woman who was wrestling with a mannequin almost as large as herself. “Didn’t you hear me? I said this was a wedding. White material is needed white! That’s ivory, you dolt!”
He words were harsh and brutal, but Amelia held no prisoners when it came to hunting out a material to make a dress out of. She too great pride in her designs, and only the best would do. “Sorry Amelia.” The woman murmured, her cheeks flushing and her teeth grazing nervously on her bottom lip. The mannequin, which was swathed in
Amelia’s greedy eyes were focused on the other side of the room, which was a world of delicate white lace and silk. Dozens of rolls of material were laid preciously out on top of the several tables that Amelia (though more her unfortunate assistant) had pushed together to create a large working space for the fashionista. She licked her lips hungrily, a lioness eyeballing a juicy deer that was ripe for the killing. “That’s okay, Isobel. I know I can be demanding, but it’s only because I want the best.”
The girl made a feeble noise that was intended to argue against Amelia’s declaration of being a diva, but Isobel knew better than to disagree with the seamstress. Amelia Trisswell was a force to be reckoned with at the best of times, armed with a sharp tongue and an eye that seemed to be gifted in picking out the traits or features you were most self-conscious about. Within the first thirty ticks of them meeting that evening, Amelia had identified Isobel’s chin, eyebrows, height and posture in a single sentence (“Well, I suppose the only way to balance out that chin is with those eyebrows, but do stand up straight, a girl like you can’t afford to lose precious inches from slouching!”). When this sudden cruelty had bought tears to Isobel’s eyes, Amelia had given a smell tsk and commented further on Isobel’s emotionality (“Oh, don’t start with the tears, I’m far too exhausted. People are going to say things much worse to you than that, and I’m family.”)
Some petchin’ family, Isobel had thought bitterly as she watched her cousin flounce off into the store, humming merrily away to herself and completely oblivious to the severe insults she had just delivered to an already self-conscious thirteen-year-old girl. They were not close, the two cousins, and on Isobel’s account. Amelia was not only intimidating, but seem out rightly cruel at times. She seemed to take great pleasure in picking apart other peoples’ appearances, with no care or interest in how it made them feel. And though she did not appear to appreciate how blessed she was in terms of natural prettiness or grace, Amelia gave the impression that whatever good looks she did possess were of her own effort, and nothing to do with her father’s impressive bone structure or her mother’s pretty eyes.
Ah, the eyes: the single trait shared between Isobel and her tyrant of a cousin. They were also shared between their mothers, who were sisters. Amelia’s mother Jona was three years older than Juliette, but they had been close as girls. When Jona married Cliff – a wealthy foreigner who would sire Amelia – a distance had grown between them. Isobel remembered how her mother would sigh and sway at the memory of her beloved sister, lamenting the close geographical distance but vast emotional. When Cliff decided to run off with a girl barely older than Isobel was at the time, the young girl remembered feeling smug. Her own parents’ marriage was perfectly well, a humble and romantic relationship that had culminated in three children and fresh roses always being placed on the dining room table. Oh, how the mighty would fall without Cliff’s healthy income and lavish lifestyle!
Of course Isobel’s smugness had avenged her in the form of Amelia. Those bi-yearly meetings, which had been filled with awkward silences and humdrum conversations, were suddenly replaced with weekly lunches, dinners and even breakfasts. The girls were expected to play nicely whilst Jona and Juliette filled each other in on their lives. And now Isobel was expected to help her bully of a cousin work, simply because she had made the casual comment of that woman’s dress is nice to her mother. Juliette had been delighted in this apparent shared interest between the cousins, stating that Isobel must simply ask Amelia for any guidance in the fashion industry! When Isobel backtracked and explained that she really had no interest in such a mundane and pointless venture, her mother had interpreted honesty with shyness, and instead took it upon herslef to organise a cousin day out! for Isobel and Amelia.
And here I am. Isobel thought miserably as she tugged yet another roll of material to her cousin.
“Nope, no way! That’s the wrong shade of white. Totally wrong! Are you blind?”
