Flash Fiction: Lace

The stuff choked her closets like spiderweb. Evening gowns, frock coats, sweeping a-line skirts. It turned the daring necklines coy. It spilled from sleeve cuffs to disguise whatever her fingers were getting up to. It signified wealth and social acumen needed to wear it correctly. She adored the intricate little webs and their clinging touch.

She closed the doors to the wardrobe with the smallest of sighs. Not tonight. Instead she chose a narrow sleek skirt in black. And for accompaniment, a loose silk blouse the light grey of night fog. She rolled its sleeves and secured them above her elbows. Combining the two hinted that she might possess the curve of hips and maybe even a modest chest.

Nylons next. Not lace, just black that dyed the pale skin of her legs an unoffensive dusk. Make up took no time. She’d been practicing since she was fifteen. Dark liner and neutral shadow to narrow too childish round eyes, nothing dramatic with the lips. Her skin needed little fixing, only powder to keep her pale from turning to a pallor.

Amethyst posts for her ears. The color was so dark one would only detect the purple as they sparkled next to the pitch of her unruly hair. Said hair would rebel out of anything more extravagant than a pony tail so she settled with one, knowing even the band would not keep the tendrils from curling around her face.

And last the heels, always carefully chosen. The things would pinch, ache and blister until she slipped them off at the end of the day. But for her it was worth the discomfort, the less anyone could look down on her the better.

A gentle knock at the door. Nathan entered and met her eyes. “Ready?” She just smiled slow and knowing in response. He fell into step behind her as she walked. The wardrobes and their spiderwebbed contents would have to wait. She had work to do.

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