Chapter Text
Soft sunlight seeps through my feather white curtains and onto the pillow. Delicate and beautiful, it dances in a swirl of yellow. But my face is not beneath the curtain of warmth that sits beautifully upon my pillow. Instead, I stand at the window, facing the town of Manhattan from my second story bedroom. It's peaceful in the early morning light, soft rays of sunlight painting the buildings in a golden hue. I smile thoughtfully at the city skyline, thinking of how I could write this into my poetry without mentioning the truth. I'm not supposed to be up, not until the sunlight hits my pillow. But I am usually up an hour or so before to see the sunrise and write in peace without the constant swish of skirts and clatter of shoes on the cobblestone roads in the background. Today is another such occasion.
“Theodosia!” my father calls from downstairs, “Get ready, my dear, and then you can have breakfast.” His voice sounds tired, but still cheerful, as it does every morning. I know that he was probably writing last night, fighting for what he believes in. His work is considerably more important than my poetry. I never question what he's doing, not even when he seems sick or tired. I just help, in any way possible. Just like now.
I pull on a yellow day dress, have one of the maids lace me up, and then rush down the stairs. My father is waiting for me, arranging jam and biscuits on a plate, back turned. I wrap him in a hug, barely coming up to his shoulders. He turns around, smiling, and kisses my forehead. “Good morning, Father,” I whisper. I push myself slightly away from him and stare at his face, noticing the dark circles underneath his eyes.
“How did you sleep, darling?” he says softly, handing me the plate. I smile and take a small bite.
“Okay. Not the best that I've slept, though,” I say when I finish chewing. Father tilts his head, concern filling his eyes.
“Are you alright, Rosie? Do I need to get you any sleeping medicine? We can afford it, if you need some-” I stop him with a small smile and shake my head.
“I think that I'm just worried about the ball tonight. I don't want to make any mistakes, especially with the possibility of-” Father shakes his head and wraps me in another hug, the worry spreading from my face to his.
“Don't worry about it. That's my job. You'll be okay, you know that? I'll always be here, no matter what,” he says, “If anything, you should be excited. So many young men…” A playful smile crosses his lips. I punch him softly in the shoulder.
“Really?” I whine, “That’s what you care about? You know I'd rather be like you.”
“A girl lawyer is unheard of, Rosie,” Father says. I laugh. This is our little game we play whenever I mention being like him.
“And I'll be the first,” I say. He chuckles and then pushes me towards the stairs.
“You should start getting ready. If it's going to take you as long as it used to take your mother to get ready,” he says, laughing. I wince a little bit at the mention of my mother. Though I don't remember her much, knowing that I'm like her is painful. I do miss her, even though Father has moved on.
“Oh, I'll drag out my preparation until you say we'll be late and we already are,” I tease, walking up the stairs. I hear my father's laughter drifting up the stairs as I walk back into my room.
I sit down at my desk and stare at the girl in the mirror propped up against the wall opposite me. Her dark hair curls around her ears and down her back, a cascade of dark brown trickling down her back. Her milk white skin shines slightly, brown eyes watching whatever seems to be in front of her. She is a sort of pretty, someone that a man could love. But she's me.
And that's not what I want to fall for.