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“Your eyes are pretty, I suppose…”
It had started as a silly game, a challenge, almost: to give sincere compliments to each other, for no reason other than how starkly it contrasted to their usual dynamic.
“I, uhm, didn’t mind it when you tried wearing rouge on your cheeks.”
Gradually, their evening heart-to-hearts had become almost a tradition; however, they didn’t acknowledge these meetings in the daytime, even when they were alone in the kitchen. Why bring up something that was essentially meaningless, anyway?
“Your hands. When you’re doing this and that, while we work— they look nice. As if they know exactly what they’re doing.”
When she didn’t feel valued enough by others, or when everything seemed rather bleak to her, Daisy would remind herself of Ivy’s compliments; after all, the other had no real reason to lie, and her comments were always so nice— was it so wrong, then, for Daisy to hold them a little closer to her heart than they’d initially planned?
“You do your best to be so cheerful, all the time…Honestly I can’t understand how you manage it. Some days I can barely look at the others because of how annoyed I am with them, while you’re always smiling while serving everyone breakfast, and that sort of thing…”
Occasionally, when met with a particularly personal and not-so-surface-level compliment (these were becoming more and more prevalent in recent days), Ivy’s heart would skip a beat and a warm smile would spread across her face. Perhaps, Daisy was finally beginning to appreciate her personality and her qualities, and was ready for them to be friends— the thought made her smile impossibly wider: after all, even if her soul deeply longed for more, friendship was all Ivy had ever wanted.
“Maybe we could, after our dinner, sit together in the servants hall for a little while? Us two, I mean. To talk. As proper friends would do— that’s what we are, right? Now, I mean. After the compliments.”
Friendship turned out to be far more than Daisy had bargained for: not only was she receiving hair tips, genuine laughs, and knowing glances from Ivy (that, she had all expected); but also comforting touches, understanding reassurances and a small, growing flame in her chest. It initially sparked up whenever Ivy’s delicate fingers were placed on her shoulder, then, eventually, it started burning brighter whenever the other girl was present in the same room as Daisy.
“Of course! You can tell me anything, you know. You’re probably the closest friend I’ve ever had, and, well…What’s the use of us talking to each other if you can’t confide in me? I promise, Ivy. Whatever it is, it won’t stop us being friends.”
Daisy was…Well, she could hardly describe it. She’d been talking to this girl for months now— she’d spent literal months in constant danger or being kissed or taken advantage of by this, this deviant! When Ivy had revealed her inclinations, the other was shocked into silence, which was evidently taken by the other as silent approval; but when she got to her own room, Daisy could hardly contain her indignation.
“Are you sure about what you’re saying? I mean, just last week you seemed so unhappy about it. Don’t misunderstand me, I’m happy that you still care for me, but you don’t have to do this, Daisy…I mean, I suppose that what you’re saying could actually be an elaborate practical joke, but I know you. You’d never do such a thing.”
Their first kiss was simple. A soft collision of lips, with a candle in the background emitting a soft glow over both their faces; they’d been sitting together on Ivy’s bed— a rushed, almost reluctant confession had been made (by Daisy), and tears of happiness had been shed (by Ivy). It was the latter who leaned in first, and after a brief moment, the former had followed. Suddenly, they were close, and warm and so completely happy they hardly dared to believe it.
“I think you and I were meant to be, well, together. When you first told me about loving other girls I was so scared…It felt like someone ripping a warm blanket from me while I was freezing— a really uncomfortable shock. I see now, of course, that it was particularly hard to understand because I’d been avoiding thinking about it for so long…You saved me, Ivy. From a life of denial, and of being who I’m not. Now I can tell you I love you and not feel shame pulling at my heart— thank you. For seeing what I could not, and well…for being the most wonderful lover I could ever ask for.”