Disclaimer: Dorian Gray belongs to Oscar Wilde, and everyone else does, too, aside from Sara, Birgitt, and Violet- who I've based a bit on me, or at least, has many of my views.

It was spring, and luckily for Violet Larousse winter had passed without incident. Lord Henry had gone with Mr. Gray up to Algiers to pass the winter and although Lady Victoria had been found standing in the doorway of his room with her lips trembling slightly on several occasions, the woman had handled it very well. The most wonderful thing about the winter had also been the least wonderful for the young servant-girl. Violet had become acquainted with two other of the servants- neither of them a thing like her, but because they had been at the household longer than she, they were helpful in helping her to know her surroundings better. Their names were Sara Brigham and Birgitt Hampton, a pair of girls who were quick to count Violet Larousse among their friends, although she was not so eager.

Sara Brigham, a girl with mouse-like teeth and ears for gossip, had been there longer than any of the other servants, and even had been there before Lord Wotton had met Mr. Gray. She was several years older than Violet and seemed to think that, despite being much less mature than Violet, she had some sort of advantage over her. Birgitt Hampton was a slow girl with good intentions and dull cow eyes, and had a kind smile that charmed all the other maids and kept them from scolding her too badly whenever she broke anything. She followed Sara around most of their leisure time, which didn't cause too many problems, aside from the fact that Violet did not mind spending time near Birgitt, and minded spending time near Sara.

They were walking down the street during some leisure time, the three girls, and Sara was talking in an enthusiastic tone about the eligible young men that were invited to a party of Victoria's. Violet frowned as she spoke; it wasn't as though they were in any situation to take advantage of a young man's being unmarried. They were only poor servant girls.

They stopped by a carter and bought some food to eat as they walked- Birgitt and Sara got an orange to share, and Violet got a pomegranate, which she hadn't had any of for a few years and had almost forgotten quite what they tasted like. As they walked, Sara continued to talk.

"And you know there was that charming Adrian Singleton," she was saying in an animated tone. "Really a delight serving, always said his pleases and thank-yous just so nicely, believe he was invited by Dorian Gray…" Sara paused and took a bite of orange, a speck of juice landing upon her chin. She crudely wiped it off with the back of her hand. "Really like those fellows that Dorian Gray brings in."

Birgitt nodded solemnly, slowly sucking on an orange slice.

"Don't you think, Violet?"

"I try not to," she replied without paying the other girl any attention, popping a pip in between her lips.

Sara scowled, her teeth showing like crooked fence posts in need of painting. Violet sucked on the tender fruit silently, then swallowed and put another into her mouth.

"We should go back again, shouldn't we?" Violet suggested, her eyes moving up to the twilight sun with her rose-coloured carriage carrying her over the golden sea of sky.

"Yes, I suppose we'll be missed," said Birgitt blandly, speaking up, which surprised both Sara and Violet. Sara looked at her with slightly raised eyebrows, then sighed and said, "Yes, I think we'll go back now."

Violet smiled at Birgitt for having backed her up, and they all turned around and began to walk back.

It was one of those spring evenings that doesn't even seem real. The road home seemed to wind around and the plain stones were like the brilliant scales of some monstrous sea-serpent, and rather than really walking the long distance, the sea-serpent brought the three young ladies to their destination. The sunlight caught in Violet's eyes and made her blind momentarily; then she was able to see everything differently. There was glitter dust all over everything, filtering through the sunlight lazily as it poured from the sky. Violet Larousse, as she ate one by one the pomegranate pips, looked on the world in wonder, her eyes startled and taking the entire scene in as it appeared to her. Birds fluttered down from buildings as they walked by, making room for Violet as though she were a princess from the next world, the royalty that she seemed to be to those feathered courtiers as they perched in other places and watched her, beady eyes showing signs of curiosity. Who was she? The wind seemed to know the answer as it danced, laughing, through the lass' long dark hair, tangling it and braiding it without a care. The birds took to flight again and sang shrilly with the wind, asking as they sailed upon the breeze, "Who is she? who is she?" But the wind gave no reply, only the sound of a giggle that was like water trickling through a sieve; for as they approached Lord and Lady Henry's home, there was water trickling through the streets along the sidewalk, reminiscent of a previous day's rainfall.

Sara gave a little delighted shriek as they drew nearer, but Violet could not see why, and did not have the chance to ask her, for an older maid called, scolding, "Sara! Birgitt!" and they were forced to leave, for they did more of the hard work than Violet, who had more delicate fingers than they, and did the gentler tasks.

Violet walked over, and presently saw that Lord Henry Wotton stood out in front of the home with a young man, the carriage that had obviously taken them to the house driving away in the opposite direction. Someday, Violet thought, she would take that carriage out of there and not look back once; but had she been paying more attention to the gentlemen as she approached the house rather than the carriage, she would have preferred to stay. That was what Sara was delighted about, she realised after turning her eyes onto the sight.

"Ah, there you are," said Lord Henry. "Victoria was wondering."

She was wondering about where you were, too, Violet thought to herself stubbornly, but her eyes showed bright attentiveness alone. The maid curtsied. "Shall I go in?"

"Yes, do so…I must go in as well," said the older man languorously, looking at his watch. "If I do not find something to distract me soon enough, I shall go to the club on time, which would not do at all." As he walked up the steps and into his home, he called back behind him, "You must come in as well, Dorian," and was gone.

Violet looked, startled, to the young man who was left standing there, looking with a curious bemused smile on the recently shut door. He hadn't changed very much…but that was the charm of youth, it did not seem to change for a year or so, then vanished without a trace. His hair was ever the same gold, the wind blowing through the strands teasingly. Violet's lips were parted slightly as though to speak when he turned his cerulean eyes to hers. She did not speak, however, but continued to walk up the stairs and into the house.

"Violet, no?"

She stopped. She had not even reached the door. The young maid turned to the lad, who watched her with a faint curiosity. Her mouth opened, and then, independent of herself, said, "Yes."

The scarlet lips curved into a smile. "Yes, Violet…" He watched her for her reaction carefully. "The first Violet of the spring. And her eyes, too," he added. "Violet eyes."

Violet was not accustomed to being spoken to by so distinguished a gentleman.

"Violet Larousse," he mused. "An artistic name you have, Violet."

In her mind, the girl went over his own name. Each syllable was like some marvelous chord struck on a lute made by the Greek gods of ancient times. "Yours is as well," she said, choosing her words carefully. "Although I cannot understand the significance of your surname. You are far from Gray, with your cream-coloured skin and azure eyes." She felt immediately that she should not have said that, but he only laughed.

"My name does not have a duty to inform," was all he said.

"But it has the honour to do so," rejoined Violet.

"The honour?"

"Is the word against your liking?"

"The only honour one has is to oneself," came the reply listlessly as Dorian Gray put his hand up to the wall, leaning against it.

"This is not so," said Violet, clasping her hands together. The taste of the pomegranate, Persephone's bane, was still upon her tongue, and she cherished it. "I am a servant, sir, and know these things."

He watched her with his beautiful eyes, unmoved, for what seemed like an eternity to Violet, then his eyes flickered up to Lord Wonton's house.

"A lovely façade," he commented with a sigh akin to that of a visitor to a museum full of really wonderful art, or like that of one who has visited an old cemetery with the brilliantly decorated tombstones and tall marble angels. Violet glanced at the house as well. "You're right," she said politely. "Remarkable architecture."

Dorian Gray laughed lightly and looked at her. "I was talking about you."

She turned her head rapidly in surprise, her hair flying from around her face, to look at him with wide indigo eyes, her expression quizzical. Then the door opened from behind her and she looked back at it instead. Lord Henry stood in the doorway, looking out at them, amused by the sight of the two of them.

"Dorian?" he said, expectant. The youth's face did not betray any embarrassment, if he was at all embarrassed when he walked up to join the elder man. Violet also went inside, to join Lady Henry. Later that night, though, when Dorian Gray and Lord Henry Wotton left, she distinctly heard from her room where she listened, the door open by a sliver, the younger man say, "Harry, your maid is the most delightful girl to talk to…"

Then Violet shut the door to her room quietly and went to sleep a most dreamless sleep.