For aletheiafelinea.
Inspired by: tamitw. deviantart. art/Elizabeth-Swann-386821234
The breeze
The fan is a weapon, a message, a pocket-sized hideout, an art work. But my fan, thought Elisabeth, is a cage too, like the manners, the duties, the corsets and the heavy jewellery – inseparable details, carefully chosen to go well with each other.
Going well together. The art of good living, they said. A lie, a boredom, a lifeless existence, hissed Elisabeth's inner voice, the art of wasting one's life. Lukewarm, like the fan's breeze.
Yet she held her fans beautifully, proud and mysterious, covering her feelings with a small, modest, tactful smile and the flick of a wrist: the fan rising to her mouth, touching it, hiding the teeth, a dam against all possible improprieties.
The musings behind the curtains of golden silk (such a pretty picture: the nice lady and the handsome man, the well-maintained garden, the dog, the bird in the cage) were hers and hers alone.