To be Herself

She lay back on the stone railing and closed her eyes. The stone wasn't particularly comfortable, but it was better than being cooped up in the house. She listened to the soft gurgling of the stream that ran underneath the bridge. It was so peaceful here. The stone was cool beneath her skin. She knew she should be inside, learning French or practicing her embroidery; but she was tired of of all. She was tired of all the pressure of being a "lady." She wanted to learn fencing and marksmanship her brothers, not hosting and dancing. She longed to be free to be herself and do the things she liked to do instead of fulfilling what others expected of her.

The Abondoned Clock

She stared at the remains of the old clock. It had once been a grand and beautiful thing. It's windows had been stained glass and iron.  The building was so tall and the face was so large you could see it clearly from any where in the city. At one time, it chimed out the hours in pleasing rings and peals. Now it sat silent. many of the windows had cracked and broken during the bombings. One of the clock hands had fallen off and had probably been sold as scrap. Many of the chimes and bells had gone missing, the ones that weren't too large for one or two to carry. Thankfully, the stairs that wound their way to the top had been made of metal. If they had been wood, they would have rotted and collapsed long ago. To most people, the prospect of living in an abandoned clock building was creepy and unsettling, so much silence where there should be noise. To her, even with the broken windows and dusty floors, it was home.

Pink

Pink. Just the word made her cringe. It made her think of cheerleaders, ballerinas, and all things "girly girl." Wearing it was worse. It made her feel all delicate and proper. She'd read the words "courtly fluffcake" somewhere and that was how she felt wearing pink. Black was better, or even a dark grey. Her mother always said that black was a depressing color, the color of sadness. That wasn't how she felt. She was happy, in her quiet way. Black made her happy, pink did not. She could hide from unwanted attention in black. Girls in pink stood out. People watched their every move. They were expected to behave a certain way, all proper and poised and...... bubbly. Girls in black, well, they could be a little more...unpredictable when they wanted. Girls in black could be proper, but they could also be improper and no one would think twice about it. They could quietly disappear and no one would notice.