Author's Note: took a few drafts before I was happy with this one. Replies are at the end of the chapter!
Conceal…
Conceal…
Conceal…
Don't let yourself feel it… don't let yourself think it...
Conceal…
Conceal…
Elsa opened her eyes.
Propping herself up on her elbows, she moved into a sitting position, head resting against the headboard, back straight. Even after all this time, perfect posture was instinctive.
The clock read 1:03 PM.
She spent 10 minutes watching the second hand go round, thinking of nothing at all.
It was bliss.
Her stomach rumbled.
Mr. Oaken will have been to the market by now, it's a Thursday…
There will be fresh eggs, and fresh bread, and maybe a small chocolate cake...
Breakfast had been forgotten in the wake of Miss Smith knocking on her door, and Elsa was famished.
Such a long session of Concealment hadn't been needed for months, but that was to be expected. There was a new guest, and Elsa's routine had been disrupted (she always broke her fast at 9 AM, the same time as when Miss Smith arrived, and all plans of sneaking into the kitchen whilst she was unpacking had been abandoned after her introduction), and it was naturally going to take more effort than usual to keep the thoughts at bay…
...particularly when the new guest- so handsome, so coeval, so eligible- didn't just stir up familiar, ancient thoughts, but begot thousands of new ones.
Elsa breathed in and out, in and out, not to quell any panic, but to ensure that panic, for the rest of the day, remained a foreign concept. She'd extinguished the fear, and what followed was constant maintenance, because once the panic rose, it was liable to rise again.
She knew the Concealment had been successful when attempts to think of Miss Smith resulted in a fuzzy, soothing buzz inside her head. She couldn't recall what her face looked like, except that it had been beautiful.
Elsa smiled, swinging her legs off the bed.
I'm strong enough to risk seeing Miss Smith in the passageway, or the kitchen. I'm even strong enough to say 'hello'!
Her gloved hand brushed the door knob, and a thought wriggled up from deep inside:
A few hours ago, Miss Smith was on the other side of this door, and she knocked on it with her sweet, bare knuckle-
Elsa caressed her own hand like it had been scorched, taking several deep breaths.
You can do this, Elsa. Conceal, don't feel.
The second she made contact with the door, her senses burned.
She gasped, running back to her bed. She cradled her broiling head in her hands.
The dam broke.
The smell of her perfume, soft and floral, I wanted to lick it-
Her voice, so light and happy, did I used to sound that way once? So carefree, so optimistic?
Conceal…
And her looks, oh, never have I seen a woman so stunning!
Conceal… Conceal… Conceal…
Oh no!… it's not working...
High cheekbones I want to trace with my finger- no, with my tongue-
Conceal…
So many adorable freckles, I would kiss each and every one and whisper "I love you" each and every time-
Conceal…
She wore rouge, but I know that with the right words and the right touch I could bring out her natural blush-
Conceal…
Such long lashes, such blue eyes, how I wish she would just stare at me and never stop-
Conceal, don't feel, you can't- don't let the thoughts go!
A nice dress, too. The green really sets off her red in her hair-
I bet it had lacing at the back- Oh, how I'd like to undo it, and push those sleeves off her shoulders, and the skirt up-
Shaking, Elsa got to her feet, and walked over to her dressing table.
She's so innocent, but I could remedy that, I could teach her everything I gleaned from Father's medical encyclopedia-
I want her hand in mine, and her embrace, and her kiss, and her touch-
She picked up the dressing table's matching stool with her right hand, placed the other in her mouth, and brought the stool crashing down on her foot.
She shrieked around her hand, and then sighed, and smiled.
Physically, she was in agony.
Mentally- for now, at least- she was free.
Trying not to limp, Elsa went to get lunch.
Sometimes, once the days' (or hours') Concealment had been completed, and the storm had passed, she wondered where her worries went.
She never felt as though they really went away.
Was she filling some internal storage chamber? If so, what happened when it filled to the brim? What if one day, she filled it too far up, and it burst? What then?
If she did indeed shove all her wicked observations, her desires, all the images that flashed across her skull like lightning without warning and made her hurt- if she did indeed shove them down deep inside her, Elsa reckoned they laid to rest over her heart, lulled to sleep by its struggling warmth.
If ever she lost complete control, she believed the force of it would kill her instantly.
The thought was comforting.
Conceal…
Conceal…
Conceal...
Elsa opened her eyes, and the tears finally fell.
If history repeated itself, her father would see that she was placed in a madhouse, professional opinion be damned.
If an influential, prominent member of Society declared his daughter insane, only a simpleton would dare dissent.
Once she entered the asylum, she would never leave.
Elsa didn't fear people's talk about her. People would always talk.
No, what brought her out in cold sweat, what kept her from the sweet embrace of sleep, or the sweet, welcoming, innocent embrace of Miss Smith, was the fact that money talked.
Specifically, her father's.
If history repeated itself…
History could not be allowed to repeat itself.
Avoidance was the only solution.
Mr. Oaken's guests never stayed long. She'd overheard him saying that Miss Smith would be staying "for quite a while", but in Elsa's experience that usually translated to a few weeks, maximum.
All Elsa had to do was stay out of her way, and then Miss Smith would be gone by this day next month.
...Wouldn't she?
Author's Note: hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Elsa's perspective!
Well, perhaps 'enjoyed' is a little strong…
The Chronicle:
I'm very happy to feedback on your feedback to my feedback of your feedback (feedback now ceases to look like a real word...)
I suppose this chapter shows my view on perspective flips. Personally, I love them for the glimpse we get into both characters head's (especially with regards to Elsanna fanfiction), and the way things are planned out for this story makes it integral to the plot. Hopefully this chapter managed to not give too much away, without consequently being frustrating and unenjoyable (fingers crossed…)
You are absolutely correct about the social backlash not being described, somehow it slipped my mind. After reading your comment I toyed with adding a paragraph into a previous chapter and making everyone go back and read it, but it would be far less annoying to work it into the next chapter.
It's rare for me not to have my nose in a book, but I'm going to hold off from reading Sense and Sensibility until part 1 of this is fully uploaded, because I have it all planned out, and I have found when reading I am like a plagiarist sponge. S&S may very well provide great ideas for the second part, but I'll read it when I go on a 'break' from writing for a week or so after part 1 is uploaded, because there's less risk of my writing style/ tone/ individuality slipping if I do that. I'll let you know what I think!
The therapist comment is actually pretty major (all will be revealed), so thank you for that! I mustn't get lazy about my research… I edited the chapter, so thanks for catching it.
My knowledge of the history of homosexuality in the UK is more male-focused, due to those being the texts I studied (have you read Maurice by E. M. Forster? It's one of my favourite novels ever!), but I do know that female homosexuality was not judged as harshly, particularly in the legal sense. That said, since this story's conception I conceived of Elsa having a real piece of work for a father. As you just learnt in the chapter, he views it as a mental illness, and it has had a deep effect on her. More details of what Elsa means by 'repeating history' will slowly be revealed…
Reading 'I'm glad you're returning to the "humour" aspect' just as I publish this particular chapter made me wince… for the record, the next chapter made me laugh out loud whilst I was writing it. Of course, that's no guarantee that anyone else will find it amusing…
Veoviing:
If you haven't already seen The Chronicle's comments on Joan, then I suggest you reread the past few chapters and see if anything "sticks out". If you're still a bit lost after that, The Chronicle puts it way better than I ever could. Here's a clue, though: who is Joan in the Frozen film?
Keanan765 and Guest:
Yep, we've got a nice slow burn going. Warm yourselves on the flames of this ship...