❝𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘢 𝘴𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘦𝘺𝘦𝘴 ❞
a bastard girl forced to dress up
as a boy for her mother's sanity
travels down the same path as she
falls for a boy that was destined
for someone else
𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐞𝐰𝐤𝐞𝐬𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐲 𝐱...
"Cyril!!" A voice calls out from the distance. Her ash brown mop of hair swished and shook as she swivelled her head to the Basilwether estate. From where she was sitting in the cart atop the golden haystacks, she had the perfect view of the towering building and the picturesque garden layed paved out in front of it. And there he was, standing beside the fountain in the middle of the roundabout.
Her mouth ached as she stretched it out into a small, barely visible smile at the sight of the boy. An odd lump rose at the back of her throat, disabling her from speaking coherently. Instead, she gave a small wave of her gloved hand. Squaring her shoulders, she was reminded of the extra baggage that was made from straw, old cloth, and pieces of cured pig skin to mimic human flesh and fill out her shoulders to make her seem more like a man. As she grew older, it became more apparent that her disguise as a guy wasn't going to hold up well, especially is she kept on growing at the pace she was. With the extra strips of cloth and bandages that rapped around her already small chest, the extra padding added to her shoulders, and all the muscles developed by servant work and combat training employed by her tutors, her body figure was taken care off. Her hands and feet where already callused and muscle built to pass for a young man's hands, rather than a young woman's. To be safe, however, she wore gentlemen's gloves at all times.
Her face shape was quite androgynous, making it easier for her to pass off as a young male, but as an extra layer of disguise, she stuffed small cotton balls into the empty space between her cheek and lower gums to make her jawline bigger and less slender. Makeup disguised the rest of her natural feminine features, making harsher lines across her cheekbones and nose. Her rough and tangled hair grew out into a low ponytail, fly-away strands of hair terrorised her face, giving her the need to always push the strands away from her face. She also began to chew more of the sticky gum sap to work her jaw into a sharper corner. With all the altercations she had undertaken, it was quite difficult to tell if she was a young hulking woman, or if she was simply a pretty boy.
