2. No! The old bat would rip me to shreds.
From Create Your Own Story
You’re probably right about that.
The next hour is torturous. In fact, it could easily go into your list of top ten ‘worse moments of my life’. The old crone seems to do everything in her power to cause all the pain and discomfort she can. And oh, the power she wields. Pins pricked into your skin, braids pulled too tight, make-up brushes that ‘accidentally’ scrape against the shell of your eye. Strangely enough, after the first few minutes of bloodlust, you couldn’t tell whether or not she’s doing these things on purpose. There was suddenly a strange and distant look in her eye, one you couldn’t recall seeing on her face before. Even her speech lost its usual bite as the hour began to wane. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say she was worried about something. But of course, worrying would require Nan to have a heart, and you know for a fact that she didn’t possess one of those.
Your mother walks in, and you’ve never been happier to see her— that is, until you see what she’s brought with her. She has a very pleased expression on her haughty face. Her eyes glow with an uncommon light as she beckons in the maid behind her. The maid is weighed down by a heavy, fluffy gown. Your mother motions for her to hold the dress in front of you for better viewing. The dress is extremely out of fashion—in fact, you’re unsure if such a creation was ever in fashion. The skirt resembles a bell and begins at the hips (ladies of the court have been wearing nothing but slim, often empire-styled dresses for the past decade, and even before that the styles had not been quite so… voluminous). The sleeves are just as puffed as the skirt, the lace is yellowed, and the entire ensemble exudes a strange, archaic odor. You reason this could only have belonged to your great great great grandmother. You hope your mother isn’t expecting you to wear this fossil.
“Oh, I was right! The green simply looks lovely against your hair. Don’t you agree Mathilde?” she says to the maid. Mathilde nods, but you catch the slight twitch of her mouth. It is an awful dress. Even the help thinks so.
Your mother turns to you, smiling wanly. “I wore this dress when I was young, as did your grandmother.” She sighs and rests her bejeweled hand on her stomach, “I don’t believe I could so much as fit my arm into it now. But you’ll look lovely in it tonight.” Your eyes meet, “Won’t you darling?”
The dress is horrendous. What do you do?
