The Glass Scientists micro-fanfictions

Emma's Reasons

Of course she had heard of the man. How could she not have? A well-known gentleman who roamed most, if not all of the circles of high society, charming all who crosses his path with nothing more than a smile. Or so she'd heard.

Emma Carew was not oblivious to the gossipy nature of those who behaved as if they somehow floated above all that pettiness of which they so delighted in. It would not have surprised her in the slightest if they had never once seen the good doctor Henry Jekyll, but had rather heard something from another and twisted it into a situation that made sense of themselves to have met the man. It'd happened before, and it was rather funny to see how stories often didn't match up. Especially when someone was trying to tell her something that had happened at an event that she, herself, had attended and the person she was speaking hadn't.

But even if the man wasn't even half the person that she was told he was, there were some things that simply could not be falsified. There was proof of all he was doing for his little underground scientific community after all, and there would be nothing gained by lying about what they were doing when they were to be revealed to the public.
Father never approved of her fascination with the man's work, or all that science thing at all, claiming it was unladylike and so would no her no good to get herself so invested in men's work.

She couldn't blame him for this, as it was simply the belief of his generation, even if she found it horribly outdated. It did bother her when the same view was echoed by people closer to her age, and so her excitement for the evening's event was dampened by the thought of a certain Simon Stride undoubtedly being in attendance. Worse still was the fact that his being there was going to be only due to her attending.

But she had heard that there were women in Jekyll's little scientific group! If she were to have the chance to speak with the man, perhaps he may even permit her a tour of the facility. Emma dared not dream further than that, however. With her neat blonde curls and doll-like features, she looked properly suited to be sipping wine with people she couldn't recall the names of and twirling around in gorgeous gowns that couldn't have been more uncomfortable to wear if the dressmaker had tried.

She cast a weary glance over to the wardrobe, the elegant yellow and gold dress she was expected to wear shining out among the pinks, blues, whites, and silvers that filled it to bursting. None of the fine garments felt like something she ought to wear, even though she wasn't presented with any other options.

Oh, poor Emma had grown so dreadfully tedious of her humdrum life. All the glamour and grand balls and formal events had long since blended into one consistent stream of bright lights and conversations repeated so frequently that she couldn't truthfully recall who it was that she was having it with at any given time. She felt wrong complaining about it, knowing just enough about life to realise that there were others who were in far worse situations in life and so she didn't have the place to complain.

But god was she bored! The tedious repetition was enough to drive her right mad!

She hoped that maybe, possibly, if she were to meet the mysterious, mythologised scientist, and then something exciting may finally come to her life and at last break the tedium that existence had long since become. Emma could only hope, and hope she did, for all she truly could do was hope that she could do, as hope was something that belonged to herself and no one else.

Perhaps if she were to let herself lose her mind that would also be something that belonged to solely herself.

She shook her head in a soft blonde cloud, not wanting to linger on such unpleasant matters, not when she may finally get the chance to start living, the first day of the rest of her life and all those fanciful dreams that she wasn't sure that she could dwell upon. Neither too hopeful or too hopeless, that was a safe place for her to remain, for she would never be disappointed but could be pleasantly surprised if something was to change.

A curt knock on the door alerted her to the fact that she had half an hour before it was time to get ready. Calling her thanks back, she was almost surprised by how genuinely enthusiastic she was about this. She couldn't really remember the last time that she was genuinely excited about attending anything, but she could suppose it was due to the fact that something good was going to come of the night.

Something good must come of the night, Emma so desperately needed it.