‘ YOU’VE ABSOLUTELY RUINED IT. ‘ she sighs, tossing a resigned hand in the air, though there remains not at all a sign of cruelty in her expression. ‘ how can you expect me to learn to paint if you can’t hold still ? ‘
‘ still lives. or perhaps you might try to find some more willing models. ’ her pen lies unattended on the desk, a stygian dribble escaping from it’s tip. ‘ like an apple - ’ she regards the dark stain with despair. ‘ - or perhaps a tree. ’
‘ YOU LOOK ABSOLUTELY PERFECT, just like that. you mustn’t move. you will ruin it. ‘
‘ - but my neck hurts. ’ voice a coquettish lilt, barely above a whisper - lips parted only slightly, the rest of her body statuesque. ‘ or have i already ruined it? ’
‘ I WOULD THINK SO. could someone possibly despise me from being part of a class but not partaking in its evils ? ‘ it was not entirely true that she was free from blame or evil, but she pretends for the sake of image and conversation. — the virtue of her wit. features soften, the sugar of flattery turning her blood saccharine. the frustration is not completely diminished, the tension visible in her forehead proving such. roseate lips do upturn slightly, contrasting with her discomfort and creating a grimace more than a smile. ‘ you will have to forgive me, then. i do sometimes enjoy the practice of debate for debate’s sake, but i’m sure you can see how i could mistake your words for simple judgment of my character, which i am not as willing to stand. ‘ words are pronounced thoroughly and carefully, as if it would make her seem more intelligent that she was. she did not find pleasure in debate at all, but the necessity of keeping up appearances called for it so often.
‘ you can despise anyone if they represent enough of what you hate. ’ her tone is neutral, emphasis carefully-placed, vaguely-placed - as if the other woman is truly so universally adored. because if forgiveness is being offered, then it is forgiveness she will take; with open, hypocritical arms. ‘ i would never attack character, simply the ideals a character would stand for. ’ muscles almost relax, air between them still thick with a murky, anxious, tension. the girl - usually so practiced in the art of discerning lies ( touch of an elbow, pupils dancing, stance shifting ) - is having difficulty seeing through the haze. behind those eyes, hidden - a secret, cunning intelligence? or simply a fluffy, aristocratic education? ‘ have we yet been properly introduced? i forget - and even so, the apologies should be delivered by me. you should know, my thoughts and my tongue do not always agree, and the latter is difficult to control. ’
THE COUNTESS REQUIRES DETAILS TO UNDERSTAND, in not only this, but every conversation she partakes in. it is times like this, when she is not provided with such, that she can no longer hold back the confusion and, where debate is concerned, frustration. the veil of sweetness is lifted, but no kiss is received upon doing so. she understands little, but it is enough to fire back. ‘ what is so horrible with the state we are in now ? am i to blame for my station ? for making the most of my situation ? i’ll have you know i was not born into this, as you may assume. i have done what i must ! i suggest you take your bitterness elsewhere, it does no good for me. ‘
‘ if you’re not to blame for your station, then do you truly deserve it? ’ what a perilous question, directed at such a perilous lady! her presence is already a contentious one, position unstable, life an endless cycle of exiles, invitations, teetering on the edge of treason. yet still, the girl’s tongue lies vicious, rather stupidly undomesticated, as if vying for another several months spent decaying in some nameless prison. ‘ please, i will stay! if only for the sake of debate - so many have extolled upon the virtue of your wit, my lady - i only wish to hear it myself. ’
‘ I, IN ALL MY EXCESS, as you call it, have never harmed any such nature ! how is her destruction the fault of our opulence ? ‘ conversation makes her skin itch, not used to such heated speech in a public place, even if the party has faded. the subject matter itself brings a redness to her cheeks. it is out of embarrassment, the sole indicator that she is not as educated as she pretends to be. anger she could do easily, but debate was not as simple for someone as ignorant as she. ‘ no one is attempting to do anything but have fun ! not that you would dare to know of such a thing, yourself. ‘
‘ i don’t mean her - the trees, rivers, all that majesty - simply the state we were once in. ’ she enjoys speaking like this, in vague abstracts, purposely convoluted sentences. slight egotistical thrill of having the intellectual upper-hand, even if she may have cheated to get there. ‘ humans were never meant to live like this - separated into stations, rich and poor. you would think the same had you been born amongst the latter. ’ a gleam of triumph, elegantly dancing around the subject of fun - which she has plenty of. all the time. just not here.
‘ mother nature is not a whore. ’ the girl spits these words through a plain expression, vindicated by the antipathy. whether it’s an angered reply, or simply a statement of annoyance is anybody’s guess. ( sometimes even the most jubilant of feelings are best expressed through rage. ) ‘ - but she might as well be, with all this gilded nonsense. ’ there’s a wine glass shattered at her feet, a party left unattended. ‘ you wouldn’t understand, of course. ’ honeyed-eyes turn sour, slavic-nose upturned. ‘ these people - your people - they’re all drowning in excess. ’ // @vasilyevna
