I've been wanting to write about some of the Heart quotes, so I'm starting it now. Basically, I'll just pick one that I like and write something about it.
I probably won't be focusing on this too much, since I'm writing two other stories at the moment, but I thought I'd at least post this chapter. Feel free to request any heart quotes you would like me to write about. Just PM me. Don't be shy. I'll try my best to make you happy. You can find the quotes at the Dishonored Wiki.
Female Survivor
"She has only one dress and wears it to tatters."
Tallulah was my grandmother's name. She lived in the Estate District with my grandfather Sutton Ashby, a wealthy businessman. She was beautiful during that time of her life, wearing flowing skirts with frills and lace, her waist cinched into a corset, giving her the figure of a bell. She showed me a painting, once, of when she was younger. She sold most of her possessions after her husband lost his money and then disappeared one day, leaving her with nothing but her personal items and an unborn child. She only kept two items from her old life - the painting and one dress.
I've always had trouble understanding business and numbers, so I don't really know how she and her husband lost their money. I never learned anything fancy like that, but I know how to live as any other common woman does. I cook, I clean, and I work until I feel as though I will collapse.
Now, as the world falls apart around me, I wear my dress. It is gray and riddled with holes and dirt now, as it has lost its youth from years of wear. It used to be a creamy pink, lined with real pearls. My grandmother said that it was a simple dress when she gave it to me, but it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, and it was mine.
I remember the first time I wore the dress, trying to step into it without looking clumsy or foolish. People who wear dresses like that never look clumsy or foolish. Every step they take, every time they move their head or an arm, they are elegant, their bodies flowing like a breeze. I was not able to accomplish my goal, hopping on one foot, trying to balance as I stuck my leg into the delicate fabric. I remember telling myself not to tear it, that I would hate myself if I did. Once I got both of my legs into the dress, I pulled it up over my hips, to my waist, on my shoulders. Even in the cracked mirror in front of me, I could see my young grandmother, attending some fancy party with lots of important people. I smiled, swaying my hips and put my arm up as though I were carrying a glass of champagne.
"Good evening," I said to my double. "This is a fine soiree we're at, isn't it... not?" I tried to talk like them, like the aristocrats who drive around in railcars, protected from the impurity of the world.
I reached my hands to the back of the dress, struggling to button it up, each button more difficult to fasten than the next, but I was determined. I wanted to look like a bell, like my grandmother.
"Of course I'd like to dance," I said, swirling around the room in my brown boots, their soles clogged with ash and dirt. The skirt of my dress opened, like a flower, and I twirled until I was too dizzy to stand. I was so young then, and life had not fully worn me down.
I made a habit of wearing the dress everyday, and every time, I would pretend that I was some rich aristocrat being helped out of my railcar by a gentleman or being waited on by servants.
"Bring me some wine, the white," I'd say. Then I would pretend I was holding a wine glass, sipping from it and laughing politely with my other hand in front of my mouth. I would imagine that my hair was pinned up with curls cascading down my back and that my old boots were tiny, pink slippers.
Pretty soon, it became difficult to take the dress off. I would put it on earlier and earlier in the day, and sure enough, I found myself doing my daily chores, looking like a princess in the house of a pauper. I would try to be careful when I wore the dress, but sometimes I would spill some water on it and then came the soup and the sauces. After a while, the dress was spotted with multicolored stains, but I still wore it, admiring myself in front of the mirror. I would step on it as I bent over and rip it a bit, but it was my only dress, and it was still beautiful. The rips, snags, and stains added up over the years, and the dress is nothing but worn, gray cloth, but I cannot bring myself to give it up. Even after all these years, I still imagine my image in the mirror, the one from the first day I wore the dress. I see myself, elegant as my grandmother once was, and I escape to the old days - her old life.
Samantha is my name. I live in a small apartment, one out of many tucked into the Distillery District. I am not pretty, nor am I young, but when I wear my grandmother's dress, I am the most beautiful woman in the world.