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The fierce pirate, Blackbeard, didn’t feel fear. In fact, she would argue that she herself was fear personified. Sailors fell to their knees under her gaze, ferocious animals quivered in her presence, even storms were said to avoid her path. Her life was one of danger and risk, a life in which fear was a death sentence she could expertly dodge. Her reputation on the seven seas was well earned, her hardness a shield against the horrors she faced and the memory of those she’d wrought.
When she wasn’t wearing the mask of the dreaded Blackbeard, she was just Eda, though, and Eda very much felt fear. She wasn’t afraid of angry hordes or rocky seas or even the Crown. She’d never trembled when a gun was pointed at her head, never shied away from a duel even if she knew walking away unharmed was an impossibility. She wasn’t even afraid of death. No, what Eda feared was herself.
More accurately, she feared others’ perceptions of her.
Being told at a formative age that she was not and never would be worthy of fine things was something that had stuck her worse than any blade ever had. After all, her physical wounds healed over time; all emotional damage did was fester. Perhaps that was why she had always been extra cruel to those of a higher class, made it obvious to them that whether or not she was worthy of their finery meant nothing as long as she had the power to take it from them.
But no matter how hard she’d tried to bury the little girl who wanted nothing more than to be rich for a day, she still lived deep in her heart, and Stine Bonnet had dragged her out into the daylight once more.
When an invitation had been stolen (or “acquired by force,” as Eda would say) from a high-class French aristocrat after the crew of The Revenge had boarded his vessel, her heart skipped a beat. Following his unfortunate death – which Eda would argue was well earned by his status as rich, French, and in her way, in that order – there would be a vacancy at the hoity-toity party he had been invited to. It would only be rude not to occupy that vacancy, would it not?
It hadn’t taken much convincing for Stine to agree to take Eda and a couple of members of the crew of The Revenge to the celebration. On the surface, Eda had justified it as “just checking it out,” but deep inside, that little girl from all those years ago beamed at the mere opportunity to attend, something so long out of reach finally within grasp.
Truth be told, lots of things were much, much scarier when they were this close-up, and Eda was absolutely terrified.
In an attempt to look casual despite, Eda had draped herself across the borderline comical number of pillows carefully set up on the beautiful red couch in Stine’s room. She watched in total silence as Stine carefully prepared to powder her face (or possibly her wig; Eda wasn’t entirely sure). Stine’s movements were graceful, practiced. There was no second-guessing as she laid out a swath of cosmetics of various textures, colors, and uses. It was almost ritualistic, the way everything had a place and an order. Eda wished so deeply to understand.
It wasn’t until her eyes roamed up to the mirror that she realized Stine had been observing her just as much as she had been observing Stine. Eda’s head snapped away in embarrassment, her eyes suddenly very interested in anything at all except for Stine.
“You ever rouged your cheeks before?” Stine asked, her voice beckoning. Eda focused on the lovely (hideous) curtains hanging above her bed instead of the ridiculous (beautiful) makeup only a few feet away.
“Nah, mate, usually just let the blood of my enemies give me some color,” Eda responded, trying (and likely failing) to sound casually disinterested as she stretched her arms behind her head. She hoped her attempt at a joke would disguise her true feelings. “What, uh… What is it like?”
Maybe, if Eda was lucky, Stine would assume she always sounded this desperately curious.
Stine chuckled, carefully placing the lid down on a small glass dish she’d been holding. The soft clink of the two pieces coming into contact sounded like everything Eda had always wanted and more. How badly she wanted to explore every single thing on that damned table. Her mind was so caught up in trying not to sprint to the vanity that she only noticed Stine walking over to sit next to her after she had already reached the couch. Eda scrambled to sit up and make room without knowing off every carefully placed pillow as Stine took a seat.
Though there was plenty of room across the couch’s 3 cushions, Stine sat close enough to Eda for their knees to brush. This close up, Eda could see the fine threads in the beautiful silk robe Stine wore, each fine detail standing in stark contrast to Eda’s old, ratty clothing. Stine’s hands cupped Eda’s face, her palms soft and gentle. These are the hands of a gentlewoman, Eda realized. Uncalloused. Unscarred. Tender.
Eda wasn’t used to the kind of kindness she was receiving, and her entire body stiffened under the weight of Stine’s calm gaze.
Eda couldn’t resist the urge to bring her eyes down to Stine’s face, watching her nonjudgmental observation. Eda’s face was anything but pristine, covered in scars and lines deepened by a life of intimidating snarls and scowls. Each mark was a map of the battles she’d fought, the hardships she’d endured. Her tattoos were a scrapbook of the memories she intended to keep; her scars were the world’s attempt to remind her of everything she’d left out. She wasn’t like Stine, whose mouth was marked at the corners by deep smile lines, whose eyes were permanently marked at the corners where her smile crinkled her skin. Stine was beautiful by design; Eda was scarred by existence.
“Hmm,” Stine said thoughtfully, but not judgmentally. Excitement flashed across her expression in the same way that always gave Eda nervous butterflies. “I’ve got it! Come on now.”
“Where? Why? What?” Questions tumbled out of Eda’s mouth as Stine pulled her towards the vanity where she had been sitting before. Stiff as a board, Eda let Stine’s hands on her shoulders guide her to the velvet stool, even let her push Eda’s hair back over her shoulders from where it usually fell.
“You’ve got to look the part, don’t you think?”
Stine made sure to face Eda towards her, leaving all the cosmetics safely out of sight, though not out of mind.
Eda couldn’t quite place the feeling that sat heavy in her chest. It wasn’t quite excitement, unless excitement was meant to make your heart feel like it could explode at any moment. It also wasn’t quite anxiety, at least not purely. She wanted to vomit, but she also wanted to stay on this stool forever.
Stine ran brushes and delicate fingertips over Eda’s skin doing God knows what for what felt like hours. In reality, it was only minutes. The tipping point was when, instead of laughing or mocking her, Stine giggled when Eda sneezed at a cloud of some sort of powder. It only made that confusing knot in Eda’s stomach grow more and more.
Every ounce of Eda’s being wanted to ask a million questions, to satiate her curiosity until she was too full of knowledge to even think, but asking for that would be the most embarrassing thing she’d ever done. Luckily, she didn’t have to. Each new product was named for her before Stine used it on her skin. She explained her process step by step, even having Eda hold the containers for each product. As foolish as it felt, feeling the weight of that smooth glass and porcelain in her hands was a dream come true.
Eventually, Eda felt brave enough to ask a question.
“So…what’s this red shit?”
And then another.
“Do you eat th– no, you don’t? You don’t eat this, definitely don’t eat this. I don’t eat it either. Looks like it’d taste bad anyway, I reckon.”
Then two more.
“Do you do this every time you go out? And follow-up question, do rich people hate themselves?”
Finally, her curiosity spilled from her mouth like a tidal wave. Stine was so kind, answering every question with total honesty, and Eda found herself unable to stop asking things. Throughout the process, however, Stine denied Eda any chance to look at her reflection. Eventually, Eda stopped thinking about it, so enamored with the woman in front of her and hungry for more knowledge she had for so long been brutally denied.
After her makeup was done, Stine moved on to an outfit, selecting a lovely purple suit with white lace and some other fancy French detail Eda intentionally forgot the name of. Then, Stine turned her attention to Eda’s hair, carefully braiding and pinning it until Eda wasn’t sure it would ever move again. Once she was satisfied with her work, Eda was finally allowed to see herself.
When she turned to face the mirror, she wasn’t entirely sure who the woman staring back at her was. She could tell it was herself, mostly because she knew how reflections worked, but it felt like the version of herself she had always been curious about. It was the Eda she’d been denied.
In reality, Stine hadn’t changed an egregious amount; really, her work was mainly visible in Eda’s rouged cheeks and bright eyelids. But that somehow made Eda even more emotional than if she had been totally unrecognizable. Stine, the beautiful woman next to her, had intentionally left her scars visible, only highlighting rather than hiding her features. It felt like an answer to that little girl Eda had kept caged for so long, but it was also a silent confirmation to adult Eda that she, as she was, could be beautiful. No, not could be. Stine was saying she already was.
“Ooh! I nearly forgot,” Stine exclaimed suddenly, running over to a side table. Out of the corner of her eye, Eda watched her in the mirror as she picked up a few flowers from her vase, shaking off the water before jogging back over. With the same delicate touch with which she’d applied Eda’s makeup, she placed a handful of the small flowers around the large bun of Eda’s hair like a crown.
“There you are,” Stine said, beaming as she stepped away to gaze at Eda in the mirror. “Look at you. You wear fine things well.”
Every other emotion fighting for a place in Eda’s brain was eclipsed as her heart threatened to leap out of her chest. The care and dedication Stine had shown to her was more than she’d ever experienced in her life, and she found herself entirely unsure of how to express the way she felt.
For possibly the first time ever, with Stine by her side, Eda felt just as brave as the pirate Blackbeard.