Author's Note: This was for the 'Vanity' challenge at fe_contest over at LJ, but er... it kinda kept on getting longer and I couldn't finish it in time T_T Nevertheless, it's my first time trying to get into the mindset of the whole make-up thing, which is, being a guy, sort of alien territory for me. Also, trying to write Vanessa is actually surprisingly hard - for some reason, I kept on wanting to write Vanessa more angsty or uptight, but I realised that she wasn't angsty at all, just not 100% confident in herself. So anyway, it was kind of tough. But hey, that's what challenges are for, right? Please R&R!
The Girl in the Vanity
by Lacunose
It was a very weary Vanessa who stepped through the doors of the room she and her sister had been given at the palace of Rausten. In light of recent events, they had been hard-pressed to reach the resting place of the last remaining Sacred Stone in as short a time as possible. Vanessa was used to hard riding, and being a pegasus rider, she knew that the brisk pace had been more taxing for the soldiers on foot than they had been for her. However, Prince Ephraim had enforced an extremely early morning roll-call, and the sight of the first bed she had seen in weeks (not to mention a stunning four-poster in a palace bedchamber) was more than enough for her eyelids to feel heavy and her footsteps to drift towards the soft, cotton sheets. She tiredly let her bags and equipment fall against the commode standing next to the wall, and fought off a yawn as she wondered if she could just go straight to sleep.
'Vanessa?'
At hearing her name, the pegasus knight turned around to see a tall, green-haired young woman leaning against the door, and gave a smile as she recognised her sister, Syrene.
'Hey, sis,' she said, trying and failing to sound less tired than she actually was.
Syrene didn't miss the fatigue in her younger sibling's voice. 'Hey, you're all burned out, aren't you?' she said sympathetically. 'I know how you feel, I'm not feeling my perkiest either.'
'I'm fine, really,' Vanessa said.
'No, you're not,' Syrene insisted. 'Come on, you don't need to hide it from me. You know what you need? A nice, long bath to get all the ache out of your bones. In fact, let's take one together – it's been ages since we've done that. Anyway, we should grab some time to talk, we've got loads to catch up on. How's that for an idea?'
The colour inadvertently rose in Vanessa's face, and she shook her head. 'N-No, I'm fine, really,' she said. 'You take one, sis. I can wait, you go ahead.'
'Aww, come on, why not?' her sister cajoled her. 'I can scrub your back for you, just like we used to do. There's no need to blush, I'm your sister, after all.'
'I'm not blushing!' she insisted while blushing furiously. 'I'm just... embarrassed, okay? Just go take a bath, sis, and I promise we can chat later.'
'Boring,' Syrene pouted. 'Alright, but we're going to have that talk, you hear? Don't think I haven't noticed that you've still lost your appetite!'
She disappeared in a flutter of emerald hair into the bathroom built into the bedchamber, and Vanessa gave a groan as she fell face-first into the bed. She remained in that position for a moment, giving herself some time to muse on whether all older sisters were supposed to be so mortifying.
'Vanessa, could you pass me a towel? I forgot to bring one in,' the aforementioned sister called from the bathroom, her hand appearing from behind the door.
The pegasus knight reluctantly got up from the comfortable bedsheets. The towels that had been neatly folded at the foot of the four-poster next to a basin of water for washing her hands and face. She picked one up and walked across the room to hand it to her. The hand took it and retreated back into the bathroom.
'Thanks!'
'No problem,' Vanessa said back as she turned about, fully intending to return to the bed, when she suddenly, she detected some movement out of the corner of her eye. She snapped her head around, her training instantly compelling her to take up a fighting stance even without her lance at the ready – only to come face to face with her own reflection in the vanity mirror.
Feeling a little foolish, she allowed herself to relax, and ran a hand through her hair. I must be more tired than I thought, she sighed inwardly.
Blinking at her reflection again, Vanessa drew closer to the vanity table in order get a closer look at her face, checking for bags under her eyes. She frowned as she caught sight of faint dark circles, and wondered if that was how Syrene had known that she was so exhausted. She tried to lean forwards a little more, stretching at her cheek to see if it was less noticeable that way, when her elbow struck one of the wooden boxes on the table, knocking the lid off and sending a cloud of white powder into the air. Vanessa coughed and spluttered as some of it flew into her nostrils, waving her hand in front of her face in an attempt to clear her breathing space of the offending substance.
Replacing the lid back on the box, she noticed that there were several other boxes and bottles placed about the vanity table – having never had the need to put on make-up, she had absolutely no idea what they were. Syrene probably knew. She had more reason to use all these cosmetics than Vanessa ever did. After all, whenever there was a ball or a party or other such social gathering, it was always Syrene who was invited. And for good reason – every time she saw Syrene in her ball dress, her glossy viridian tresses brushed to fall elegantly behind her in a silky train, she knew that every eye would be drawn to her the moment she stepped into the room.
Vanessa watched her reflection reach up to touch her own lank green locks, which did not cascade down her back like her sister's, but were tied into a short plait with a few stray curls that flicked the back of her neck. She had kept it so because she had thought such long hair could get in the way in battle, and if she was ever going to catch up to her sister's skill, she would need to lose every disadvantage she could find. And yet, Vanessa found herself still chasing after those flying waves of emerald hair as Syrene seemed to soar ever further away – like the sky, sometimes feeling like she could almost touch it, but her fingers ever closing around empty air.
She sat down at the table tentatively, with the characteristic uncertainty of one who was entering unfamiliar domains. The girl sitting opposite her watched her hesitant movements, her hands clasped tightly as she stared back at her. Her green eyes were larger than her sister's almond-shaped ones, but they did not have the deft sharpness that characterised Syrene's gaze – instead, they were furrowed and anxious, the slightly harried, serious light in her look a sharp contrast to her sister's refined nonchalance. She touched her eyelashes, wondering what it was that made her sister's eyes so attractive, while her own seemed so childlike. Father Moulder had often told her that she was a very straightforward girl, and she had always wondered whether they had meant that she was naive, or even infantile. Her frown grew a little more pronounced at that thought. Vanessa wouldn't call herself the most worldly person by any means, but she was still a knight of Frelia, and she bristled at even the insinuated idea that she was a child.
Looking at the frown creasing her forehead, Vanessa sighed and allowed her face to relax. She would get worry lines before her time if she let her stress get the better of her. Syrene's skin was flawless, her beautiful pale features gave her a swan-like regality that was rare even in the noble ladies of the Frelian court. The face staring back at her had dried sweat streaked across her cheeks and the signs of her enervation leaving tell-tale shadows under her eyes. How her sister managed to maintain that pristine, statuesque profile even under the tensions and heat of battle, it was something beyond her comprehension. How could she be so perfect? How was it that the girl she saw in the vanity mirror looked so different from the face of her sister, when they were of the same flesh and blood?
Her fingers brushed against something on the table as she leant against the edge of the vanity. It rolled off and fell with a dull clatter onto the floor. Vanessa reached down to pick it up, looking at it curiously. It was a thin wooden pencil of some sort – she vaguely remembered Syrene using something like it on her eyes, a long time ago. She turned back to the mirror, and she wondered if this was what it was – that the peculiar implement was how her sister made her eyes look so calm and attentive all the time. And a fleeting thought crossed her mind that with this, she could look like her.
Hesitantly, she brought the pencil up to her eyebrows, painfully aware that she had absolutely no clue as to what she was doing. Fighting the urge to blink, she carefully traced the edge of her upper eyelid, bit by bit. Once one edge was done, she moved to the other and with the same halting caution, outlined her lower right eyelid with a dark trail. She drew the pencil away, and gave a small gasp as she looked at her face in the vanity. She saw Syrene looking back at her with a single dark green eye – it was not exactly the same, but a hint of that winsome sharpness was there, as well as the shrewd way the flick of her eyelashes caught the watcher's attention. Vanessa could not understand how just such a few lines could change her appearance so.
Vanessa reached up to apply make-up to the other eye, but found that her armour restricted her. She put down the pencil to unbuckle her armour, first taking off the steel pauldrons off her shoulders, then reaching under her arm to unfasten the breastplate. She carefully put the armour down on the floor next to her, and rolled her shoulders back, revelling in the unrestricted feeling as the tension fell away. She finished outlining her other eye, and put the pencil down to see how it looked in the mirror. Yes, those eyes were definitely like her sister's. Although something might have to be done about the hair. It wasn't nearly as long as Syrene's, but maybe if she loosened the plait, it might look a little better.
She reached behind her neck to untie the band that held her hair together, and with a few twists of her fingers, it came undone. She shook her head from side to side in order to shake it out of the knot, then looked back at her reflection to admire the effects. The figure in the mirror was a young woman a little older than her, dressed in a form-fitting red dress that had no sleeves so that her arms were left bare. Her green hair was draped over her shoulders, with two emerald-coloured locks brushed on either side of her head to frame her face. She glanced back at her with deep-set eyes that glittered like two polished jades, brought out by the dark make-up. Vanessa blinked, not quite believing that she was looking at mirror, but rather some sort of window, and that there was another girl sitting on the other side – this girl was artful and engaging, who had never seen war or battle. There were no memories of past battles etched onto her face, nor were there scars of past tears engraved in her gaze. She was attractive and intriguing, but despite how much the her appearance pleased Vanessa, she did not – could not – recognise the girl in the vanity mirror.
There was a small clink as her hand made contact with one of the small bottles scattered around the tabletop. She picked it up, holding it up to the light. The lacklustre glass prevented much from getting through, but Vanessa could still make out the opaque liquid inside. She paused for a half-second before she unscrewed it, and she gingerly sniffed it. The fragrance was strong – her senses were filled with the scent of primrose and musk, and sparked a distant memory of smelling her mother's hair when she embraced her before she left to join the Frelian army. Even then, she had been always chasing after her sister's shadow.
Looking back at her unrecognisable reflection, Vanessa wondered if every time someone sat at the vanity table, they saw somebody different by the time they had finished with their ministrations. Even though she could see the merit in making one look more beautiful (how many times had she wished to look more like Syrene, after all?) she could not understand how a person could be comfortable with changing so significantly. She felt uncomfortable looking at herself even with such little, clumsily-applied make-up and arbitrary changes to her hair and attire – if one was to use the whole arsenal of cosmetic products that lay strewn about the vanity table, what impenetrable mask would they create?
How sad it must be, she thought, To see your face change into that of a stranger before your eyes!
And yet she knew that Syrene had often sat at a table like this, and Vanessa was curious if her sister also saw somebody else looking back at her each time she looked in the mirror after using the vanity. But why would she need to use it? As far as Vanessa could see, her sister was already faultless – her beauty peerless, her grace in battle unrivalled. What blemishes did she have to cover? What feature did she need to heighten? How could she top herself when she had already reached the state of perfection?
The idea that Syrene had things she didn't like about herself made Vanessa uncomfortable, to say the least. She had so long considered her sister an idol, a benchmark, the ultimate, infallible target she had to strive always to reach that the concept of that target being flawed in any way wasn't one she took to with much enthusiasm. But perhaps, under all that beauty and grace, there were things troubling her sister which she perhaps wanted to cover up – to put on a facade so that others would not be burdened with her problems, to always alleviate anxiety with a smile, as she always did. Even when Syrene pestered her about the bath, or about talking, it was never to annoy or embarrass her, but rather for her sake. The immaculate image she had always had of her sister had never really allowed her to think that she could also have worries and trials of her own.
With a final glance at her likeness in the mirror, Vanessa got up from the vanity table. Walking over to the foot of the bed, she swept up water from the basin and splashed her face with it, scrubbing away all traces of the make-up with her hands. She did not bother to dry her face or hair as she returned to the vanity table to look at her reflection once again.
She still had that same dress, and her head was still covered by locks of the same lime-green shade. But the water had made the loose strands of her hair cling to her cheeks, neck and forehead, and stray hairs were splayed all about her face. Vanessa saw herself look straight back with bright emerald eyes, not particularly mature or winsome, but still clear and modest – the same eyes that others saw when they called her things like 'sincere' and 'pure'. It wasn't what she would call particularly pretty, but Vanessa couldn't help but a silly, relieved grin from appearing on her features as she saw a face that she could proudly call her own.
She was not as beautiful as Syrene, and perhaps she would never be. The gaze, the hair and the smiles her sister was famed for were things that she could never replicate no matter how much she fiddled about with powders and ointments. These were simply the way things were, and although she could sit in front of the vanity for hours appraising her appearance in comparison to her sister's, she would only be trying to ignore who she was. Make-up and beautification were all well and good, but Vanessa knew that if she was constantly striving to look like something she was not, she would never move forwards so she could be of help to both herself and others. Syrene always expressed such confidence in her younger sister's abilities, and Vanessa had been so obsessed with trying to meet her expectations that she hadn't given a thought that perhaps her invulnerable sister also had problems like herself. She'd always wondered if life would be easier if she was more like Syrene – attractive, strong and sociable, seemingly the perfect woman. She'd only seen the Syrene in the vanity mirror – merely the surface of the make-up that she put up to hide her own burdens.
The pegasus knight now looked at her own face staring back at her in the mirror, a hand leaning against her cheek. This was the face of Vanessa, a captain of the pegasus knights of Frelia and the sister of Syrene, one of the most famous knights in Frelian history. There was nothing to be ashamed of in such a face, and she didn't have to be a beauty or a great knight to be able to stand by for her family. You just watch, sis, she thought resolutely. I'm going to be someone you can count on. So that whenever you've got a problem, you can come to me, just like how I've depended on you for all these years.
At that moment, the bathroom door opened, and Syrene stepped out wrapped in a towel. Vanessa leapt up from her position on the vanity table with the swiftness of a child's hand leaving the cookie jar, but her sister's eyes did not miss a thing. A smile crept up across her profile as she said teasingly, 'What were you grinning about? Vanessa, were you... were you actually using the vanity table?'
'I-I was not!' she stammered back, her wavering voice not lending her much credibility. 'I was just uh... using the mirror.'
'But look at the table, all the bottles are a mess!' Syrene said, pointing at the various vials that had been knocked askew. 'And look, you've got powder all over your dress! And why is your face and hair all wet?'
'N-No reason!' she said, the colour unfailingly rising up to her face. 'A-Anyway, I'm going to go take a bath!'
'Huh? Hey, Vanessa! Hold up! You forgot to take a towel...'