Gossamer light, the lace poured through her fingers like water.
“Silk,” her sister said, bitter envy dripping from the word. “Handmade. Hermesian silkworms…”
As pale and clear blue as ice under seawater, so fine it shivered beneath her sister’s breath, the lace was worked into an ever-changing garden of blossoms. Petals and stamens, delicately wrought thorns and vines, wove through the netting.
Her sister slipped the hem between her thumb and forefinger, gaze alighting on a minute bit of stitching that bore the maker’s mark. “Belurian weavinghouse. He does love you.”
Gentian blushed. Nevin didn’t love her; he simply understood that wooing her properly was the safest way to her dowry. She offered the bolt of lace to her sister. “There’s enough here for two overskirts, Lyria.”
Avarice flashed in Lyria’s topaz eyes, quickly replaced with derision. “It’s meant for your brideshift, you stupid cow.”
Tears burned the corners of Gentian’s eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Gathering the yards of carefully folded and wrapped silk up like a doll, she backed away from her sister’s vitriol.
A knock at the door drew Lyria’s attention; Gentian felt the weight of it fall from her shoulders. A measured voice followed the knock. “The wine, my lady.”
Lyria met the servant halfway, reaching for the tray. Whether Lyria’s hands faltered or her steward’s step was unsure, it was enough to upset the wine. Gentian saw the deep ruby claret leap as though propelled from its silver cups, saw the touch of pleasure in her sister’s eyes when the old man stumbled and the serving tray clattered to the floor.
The lace soaked up the wine like a drunk. The way it spread was almost beautiful, pressing the now palest violet lace against her bare arms, painting the winter garden with a blush of spring.
“Oh, dear,” Lyria breathed. “Whatever will Nevin say?”
This week, Write at the Merge challenged us with two words: Gossamer: noun; a fine, filmy substance consisting of cobwebs spun by small spiders, which is seen esp. in autumn. And Affinity: noun; ( pl. affinities ) (often affinity between/for/with) a spontaneous or natural liking or sympathy for someone or something: he has an affinity for the music of Berlioz.
Hopefully Nevin says, “My dear, I’ve always known your sister was a scheming bitch.”
Hee. I’ll remember that, should I ever revisit these sisters.
Wow. You painted that lace incredibly: I could feel it and see it. The detail was crystal-clear. Fantastic storytelling.
Thank you, Kate. High praise indeed.
Love the vision you gave of the lace. I think it may be even prettier in lavender.
Wouldn’t that just irk her foul tempered sister.
I think you might be right, Renee… and it would irk her to no end.
Whatever would he say? Perhaps he will move on to another dowry and leave Gentian for someone who will care for her regardless of the color of the lace. And Lyria is the sort of cow one loves to hate. Perfect antagonist. Well done!
Oh yes, Lyria is easy to hate, it’s delightful.
Ooh, bitch! Gorgeous description here, and all couched in delicately feminine terms. Just right for the tone.
Thank you, Annabelle!
So vivid–both the descriptions and the characters. Maybe Gentian will force her sister to make a bridesmaid’s gown from the ruined lace.
That had occurred to me
Yep, a perfect bitch.
You certainly have an affinity for imagery.
Bravo Cam.
“A knock at the door drew Lyria’s attention; Gentian felt the weight of it fall from her shoulders. ”
That line is perfect. It sums up the tension between these sisters. I have two of my own, and I’ve played both sides in this scenario.
Lyria is a total bitch. I love how your agility with words left no room for doubt on that score. Excellently done, Cam!
Magical use of language to transport us to another time. And I would have loved for Gentian to come back with “Nevin always was partial to lavender”
or something
In general, I try not to call people names, but it was hard to refrain in this case. The other thing I thought was interesting was Gentian’s seeming ambivalence toward her betrothed. Sounds like a woman who doesn’t have many healthy relationships at all.
Your use of language is beautiful as always. I did find the opening sentence not as flowing as I would like in an opening line (Gossamer light, the lace poured through her fingers like water) although the image itself is exquisite. I guess I didn’t feel grounded in where and who I was reading about; I wanted a more character-based beginning for a piece so well-crafted to show the relationships.
A quite lovely weaving of elements… My compliments!
Thanks, Billy Ray! I’m looking forward to having your part of the Story Circle next month!
wow… I love the clear emotions coming from both sisters – the one trying so hard to be nice, the other refusing to think of anything but her own bitterness. So sad to see sisters at war.
Looking forward to the ‘Story Circle’ — will give it my best! My best wishes to you.