Just outside the pinewood door, she
hesitated, her most recent needlework in hand. She had modeled it after a
painting her betrothed had bought home from his last voyage to China, imbuing
the piece with porcelain, fans, and women dressed in patterned robes with long,
wide sleeves. It weighed heavily on her fingertips, pressing against her leg
through the fabric of her gown. Was it ready? Would her mother approve? She
tucked her knocking hand to her chest and closed her eyes as she listened to
the ladies within the sitting room. At her throat, the blue ribbon itched.
As she glanced back at the circular
thread cabinet, the glimmering sapphire on her finger caught her eye. Images of
her betrothed’s delight flashed through her mind: the afternoon sunshine
washing the green walls and family portraits of the sewing room. The way all of
the furniture gleamed with the new wood polish her father had used that morning.
The way her betrothed’s face split with a grin as she showcased the
almost-finished product. She sighed and straightened he hair. If it was good
enough for her husband-to-be, it would have to be good enough for her mother.
She rapped confidently on the door
before letting herself in.
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