TO THE WONDER - ANNE WITH AN E
IT'S HARD TO HEAR, THE DISTANT VOICE. IT WOULD RING SO CLEAR IF WE COULD ONLY TUNE OUT THE NOISE| Arabella Hastings, the golden girl of Avonlea has come back from a year off and mistery surrounds her. What kind of chal...
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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 isnt sorrow part of the journey? ( A plus: Short Chapter) _______•______
Bella looked at her reflection in the mirror before her with a lossy gaze, in her she could only admire sorrow; a broken porcelain figure that could not be repair even with the greatest effort she possessed. The gestures that were both gracious and beautiful could be considered that when they bore grace in them, they were much more attractive, now they looked sad and deranged without the childish grace so proper from her that gave that life to her that attracted every tasteful possessor of eye.
She had been dressed in those pompous dresses that had acquired a particular fashion in the Queen's golden years. They were haute couture, made of muslin and fine lace that decorated the long skirts with a thousand flights and made her acquire a magical air that resembled a slippery and beautiful mist, in turn, the bare shoulders revealed her graceful neck and the slenderness of her collarbones and tender arms elongated, agile and haliful. Her skin was revealed to be white as salt and soft as the silk itself, almost impossible not to be tempted to caress her in such exposure that was shown. The dress did justice to her molded figure, slender, fresh and tall like a poplar with a face of lilies that perfectly matched her delicate complexion. Her hair had been picked up in intricate braids at the bottom of her skull, decorated as demanded by the fashion that came with her clothes, white ribbons and fine lace with small silk and linen daisies perched delicately, mean to decorate that soft platinum head that on the front was decorated with small loose curls that gave it a more libertine and childish air. Her graceful neck had been dressed by a small silver necklace with a single pearl at the end and her small blusty ears had been decorated by two pearls of a spectacular rosewood. Her smell of lime, vanilla and honey was still characteristic of her despite those several layers of a strange French perfume that her Mother had acquired on one of her many trips to Europe.
She looked like a young woman of a natural grace that she had added to her beauty, her great ease of speech, her good manners and an intelligence that gave much to speak of. One would be surprised that in times like those you could still witness high born beauties that still retain what was considered "the good traits that a husband takes into account before insinuating himself to the target". Sure, it had in itself a vulgar essence in that sentence, but there was no other way to describe it. It was the way it was. Bella considered that, the most vulgar and most old-fashioned thing she had ever heard. Why couldn't a lady dress for hees, but had an obligation to dress to impress a certain character? She could only find in that acclamation the greatest fallacy.
"Oh Bella, smile a little" her sister surrounded her around her shoulders, "A beauty like you doesn't fit frowns very well"
"Believe me sister, beauty or not, women can be as sad as they want whenever they want" Bella demanded.
"I know, Bell. I know these days have been hard, and I allow you to be as angry with me as you desire but you just have to know you can count on me"
