Needlework

Needlework

A snapshot

Companion piece to The Idle Maiden of Wealth  and  Parting  This can be read on its own but you get more story if you read them all. They can be read in any order but chronologically based on in-story time they are: Parting, Needlework, The Idle Maiden of Wealth. As always, any feedback is welcome and appreciated. Hate it? Love it? Let me know.

The young woman smiled to herself as she passed the gleaming needle through the rough practice cloth to form a dainty stitch. Her mother and the handmaidens mistook it for a love of the art. No, her heart took no pleasure in the monotonous passing of one stitch after the other. However, she did love to weave her dreams into the cloth with every stitch. If the others knew that, she knew they would not be pleased. That only made it more enjoyable.

She had a secret. She knew something that even the lady of the castle, her mother, did not know. She was friends with one of the kitchen girls. They had been born at around the same time and the other girl's mother had been her wet-nurse. Her wetnurse and the woman's daughter were descended from travelling folk. She and her bosom-sister loved to hear the stories of faraway lands and the freedom that came with being a slave to wanderlust.

When she'd been younger, she'd dreamt of running off and becoming a travelling entertainer. However, soon enough she came to know that her place in the world would be by the side of a man she would not meet until her wedding day. Instead of letting the sorrow overwhelm her soul she escaped into the vastness of imagination.

She was brought back from her dreams at the sharp prick to her index finger. The pain made her grimace and her eyes swell with unshed tears. The droplet of blood soaked into the cloth ruining her work. She did cry then, not at the effort lost, at the dreams that had turned dark in the face of reality.

"She's so clumsy," one of the handmaidens whispered loud enough for her to hear but not loud enough to carry over to her mother's seat by the window.

The tightening of her jaw was hidden by her pale hair and her face remained pleasantly placid. Her blue eyes turned hard as she wondered if her friend would know any herbs that would give the handmaiden reason to remember her place. Her smile was genuine but a tad frosty as she excused herself with the pretense of taking care of the cut before making her way down to the kitchens. By the time she made it down, there was nothing to tell of her injury except the dry smeared stain of blood on her digit.