Perfect light, perfect outfit, perfect day! ✨ These skirts just aren't going anywhere! 🎀

Title: Satin & Shadows

The light, of course, is always the enemy. Not that there’s anything wrong with the light, mind you. It’s usually lovely, this light. Warm, like a well-placed hug, usually. But today, it’s a bit too bright, isn’t it? A little too insistent.

We’re in the bedroom, naturally. Always the bedroom. The one with the window. A nice enough window, really. A bit creaky, perhaps, but that just adds to the drama. And the dress, of course, is perfect. Navy blue, of course. Everything’s always in shades of blue. A little bit of relief from the white of the blouse, the black of the skirt. The bow, a little bit askew, as if to suggest a slight, subtle chaos in our lives.

It’s been like this, hasn’t it? For ages. A constant, quiet tension. Like a tightly-wound string, ready to snap. We’ve learned to live with it, mostly. A smile, a tilt of the head, a perfectly-placed hand on our hip – a little bit of grace, a little bit of defiance.

Father’s been a bit…distant lately. Not that he hasn’t always been, not that he’s not here. Just…distant. Like a well-worn armchair – familiar, but not always comforting. He’s been spending more time in the study, of course. The study is always dark, a little bit intimidating. The scent of old books and unspoken expectations.

The clock is ticking. Can’t hear it, can we? It’, of course. It always is. A subtle tick, a subtle tick, a tick that feels like a heartbeat, a tick that feels like a deadline.

The skirt is a little too tight, perhaps. A slight tightness, a reminder of the silk, the satin, the pressure. We’ve always had to be perfect, haven’t we? To be beautiful, to be poised, to be the embodiment of everything – except ourselves.

A flicker of movement in the corner of our eye. The maid, probably. A little bit of a fussy, of course. Always making sure the ribbons are straight, the shoes are polished. A little bit of a burden, but a necessary one.

A sigh. A perfectly-timed, perfectly-subtle sigh. To mask the fear, of course. The fear that’s always there, just beneath the surface. The fear that maybe, just maybe, all this effort, all this grace, all this quiet perfection…is for nothing.

A flash of light, a bit brighter than usual. A hint of a smile. We’ll take it. We always do.

After all, what else have we got to lose?