I'm sorry that it has been so long since I updated this. I'm just not going to be able to fulfil the "daily" part of the WitFit challenge! You know that no copyright infringement is intended - it's just not my style.
Word Prompt: Pierce
Plot Generator — Idea Completion: Swimming against the tide.
An idea or concept is presented. Follow where it leads you.
She stood before the mirror smoothing the ice-blue silk that skimmed her hips. The fabric of her dress floated gently to her knees and the creamy expanse of her legs was uninterrupted until they met her bronze peep-toe heels. She wore no adornment save a ring on her left hand, diamonds winking in the soft lamp light. Clothes were scattered across the bed and floor, as she had ransacked her closet in search of the perfect outfit. Her golden hair gleamed dully in its elegant twist, wispy tendrils framing her heart-shaped face and flushed cheeks.
She turned from the mirror, heels clicking rhythmically on the exposed hardwood floor and began folding and hanging, returning the room to some semblance of order. Her hands paused on a red dress swinging haphazardly by a lone strap from the bedpost. The soft jersey material yielded to her touch, as she brought it to her nose and inhaled deeply. She liked to imagine that a faint musk clung to the fabric, even after all this time. She remembered the first and last time she had worn the dress, recalling vividly how it had sighed contentedly as it drifted to the floor at night's end. Her fists clenched around the bodice and she sank onto the bed, putting her head between her knees, counting in her head and breathing deeply. Her hands shook and her jaw clenched, as she fought to regain control. As her breaths slowed, the antique wall-clock's ticking was the only sound in the room and she matched her breathing to its soothing predictability.
She stood carefully, rocking backwards slightly on her heels and knelt at the bedside. She pulled an old, battered suitcase from beneath the bed, her hands swiping clear tracks through the dust-laden cover. The unzipping sounded oppressively loud and her hands faltered, before opening the case with one determined tug. Her fingertips grazed the papers reverently, but she didn't allow her gaze to linger. She folded the dress and placed it on top, touching it carefully and closing her eyes briefly at the deluge of memories that still had the power to pierce her resignation. With a sigh and a shake of her head, she closed the the case and shoved it back beneath the bed.
She drifted back over to the mirror, touching up her make-up, plucking imaginary threads from her dress and allowing the seconds to tick by. The doorbell ringing interrupted her reverie and she clutched her arms in reflex. Surveying herself in the mirror, she smiled wryly; she was no longer a woman who could wear red. She slipped on her grey wool coat and wound a bronze and blue embroidered scarf round her neck. As she passed the hall-table on her way to the front door she picked up her waiting clutch, dropping something into the little ceramic bowl that usually held her keys. Opening the door with a tentative smile in place, the answering smile that greeted her eased the ache in her chest. She passed her bare left hand along the wall, flipping the light switch, and pulled the door closed behind her.