Ficlets

Isabelle and Samantha

I stood on unsteady legs, marveling that this rather nondescript man was not a mere mister but a lord, and an honorable one at that. My curtsy left much to be desired, whereas Isabelle’s was graceful and elegant, as always. I saw Lord Windham’s eyes light up with interest as he regarded my cousin. I had become a wallflower again.

I had every reason to be jealous of Isabelle. She was everything I was not – she had the flaxen curls, porcelain skin and blue eyes that were all the rage at the moment. Her waist was tiny and hardly had any need of a corset. Her posture was perfect, her dancing divine.

While my complexion had no fault, it was darker than Isabelle’s, almost approaching olive. My hair was pin-straight and black, refusing to stay in the crown of curls that was the current fashion. Then there were my “feline” eyes, which were a rather pretty color, almost emerald. They might not be fashionable but I quite liked them anyways. Lastly, my posture (not to mention my dancing) needed improvement.

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