corsets: a modern day revolution for a primitive symbol. inspired by enola holmes.
"hold still to the heaboard, madame. i shall lace you up now." primrose utters in the meekest of voices, the handmaiden's fingers a strict contrast to the soft, lilting voice that often tumbles from her lips. calloused and sure, her hands pull the ribbons of my corset and out comes a shrill cry as i heave– no matter how many times i've dealt with it beforehand, the first tightening always manages to catch me unsuspecting.
"madame! are you alright? had i been too sudden? please forg–"
"no, no, primrose, you needn't worry. i just need a little getting used to it again, is all. carry on, now, i'll hold my breath just fine."
letting lose a little chuckle, the lass continues after i took another great inhale. a worrier, that girl. her intent is evident but she lets her thoughts much wander too constantly in her poor little head. i feel it, too, the laces have suddenly become a little more loose in the middle as i'd like them. her little earthen hands halt and she calls after me again. she must have noticed that i'd started shaking my head.
"madame? is it still too tight?" i could almost hear her head as it tilted, eyes inued with the purest of jades curious under furrowing brows. my handmaiden is skilled at numerous things, but feigning any sort of emotion was never one of them. that emerald stare never hid a lie behind it.
"not particularly, primrose. as a matter of fact i rather believe it a little loose for my liking. mind not my discomfort, lass, i'm an old woman and i've dealt with plenty."
"yes, madame, as you wish."
"and please, call me lucia. pleasantries have never been my cup of tea and i believe it isn't yours either."
a giggle, and the harsh crafty hands give the lace another swift pull. "yes of course, mada– i mean, lucia!" another little giggle, this time albeit more undeterred than the ones prior.
she continues for a few more , until about halfway through when i realize a desperate need for air. primrose somehow catches on, and she's quick to ask the question before i did.
"would you like to take a break first, lucia? this is your first time back in corsets after pregnancy, i'm sure it can be quite difficult."
i nod as an answer, a little winded and short of breath. she quickly grabs i and herself a seat. exhaling as i lower myself like a withered prop, it immediately comes to my attention that the lass in front of me hadn't managed to hide her chortling.
"you're really bad at keeping to yourself, aren't you?" though a little harsh, i decided to shoot the question anyway. an ebony brow perches from her countenance, and she again faces me with the same look of confusion as she had while lacing my corset.
"well, madame–"
"lucia."
"–lucia, i must say i have been raised in such a household where none of us had anything to hide from one another. boundless, as one says. to us, there were no boundaries to be mindful of." primrose retorts, scar-clad hands settling over her cream pattened skirt.
and so i studied her, my eyes skimming over her sun-blessed complexion; a far cry from the royal ivory my family and i bore. if unsuspecting, one would say the girl was merely a few months shy of her first bleeding. but primrose had been here years before the coronation, and so i'm led to believe she isn't very much younger than i am. though admittedly often quite queried, the dallying voice holds many mighty, unrestrained thoughts – had the gods not assigned her to be a woman, i highly believe she'd make a wonderful hand of the king. i'd noticed, too, how she seems to have never worn a corset her entire life despite her knowledge of their use.
"you'd never worn corsets before, yes?"
a few moments of silence and she nods, a faint smile lingering upon her curling lips. i train my gaze upon her, urging her to continue.
"neither has any woman in my family, lucia. my mother had never wanted us to be pursued by a suitor who believed that a corset was necessary for a woman to look appealing."
"and you believe this?"
she offers a curt nod. "i do think that there is far more to women than men's ideals."
it is true. many see it as a symbol of restraint, of slavery, of imprisonment to an ideal – and to an extent, i do believe it to be so. no eligible suitor would be particularly taken by the image of a woman's lady pouch peeking from her bodice. it simply isn't attractive in their eyes (to those who aren't blind, of course). men believe that their own self interest is the driving force to the chariot of women's fashion. my, how wrong could they be!
and so i nod too, slowly rising to my feet – primrose beckons over, taking it as a cue to continue her lacing. no more words have been spoken until she finished.
then finally, her familiar tone broke through the atmosphere of silence once more as predicted.
"may i return the question to you, then, lucia?"
i had none else left to do but smile. such a thing for her to do.
"why i choose to wear them?" she nods again.
"well, the way i see it, it is indeed symbolic of men preying over the weak interests of women. what you say is true, it has always been." jade eyes meet mine of sapphire, and the simper she bore tells me we had a lot more in common than the manor that houses us. "yet it is also untapped potential hidden beneath fabric, lace and padding; a reminder of what women keep reigned within the confinements of their chest. it is a cage for a loud beating heart." and slowly, i shared her smile, too.
"i am a woman with many secrets. i like to keep them to myself, in the little cage that this corset offers. i keep my heart guarded through it's structure, and store my fears in their shape. i wear it for no man, no beauty, no satisfaction, but for myself. to remind me when i am weak that i have much more to offer."
"that one day, when i am released from my cage, gods help this country – no one will be able to contain me."
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