11-27-2024, 12:07 PM
(This post was last modified: 11-27-2024, 12:09 PM by Ruth Longbottom.)
[CW: alcoholism]
Look, the day had been a wonderful dream for the most part. At the end of their shopping spree, Ruth owned more clothes than she had ever owned in her life. Her fake jewellery had been replaced by earrings, necklaces and bracelets with real diamonds and real gemstones. Magnus had been a perfect gentleman and under his adoring gaze and praising language and swiftness to pay up, she had almost forgotten that he was old and ugly.
He had shown her the cottage, promising that his daughter’s things would be removed that very night and her own things moved over in the morning. That was a relief. Despite the luxury and worship with which he showered her, Ruth was beginning to long for a moment alone. As the day drew to a close, the dream turned into an increasingly severe headache. She began to feel rather anxious whenever he spoke up, convinced that he would tell her he had changed his mind and he didn’t want her after all. Even his hungry looks, which declared the opposite, began to frighten her. The occasional jostling of the carriage caused her to break out in sweat. She folded her hands tightly in her lap to suppress the tremor. She was in dire need of a drink.
The idea of having to last an entire night with him without a single drink nearly squeezed the breath out of her. She didn’t think she’d be able to do it. When she went up to change – because rich people apparently needed a different set of clothing to eat dinner – she begged and pleaded with Tilly to find her a drink. There was no alcohol left in the house was the brutal answer. The master had ordered every last bottle to be poured away. Ruth raged at the maid. All kindness of that morning and the night before was forgotten.
She took her time coming down, struggling to compose herself. She whispered every curse in the English language at Magnus and his stupid sober face. Finally, she realized she could no longer delay. She went downstairs, dressed in her new lilac evening dress with a low cut, cream gloves and a diamond necklace. She tried to look happy.
Her rage melted away when she saw him, not because the sight was pleasant, but because she realized that his rage was bigger. Was he angry with her for making him wait? He had already begun and was cutting his chicken rather severely, his mind elsewhere. Was he thinking of what else he could cut? Ruth was used to fawning. She approached him quietly but stopped just out of reach. “Magnus, my love. How do I look?” she said in her sweetest voice.
Look, the day had been a wonderful dream for the most part. At the end of their shopping spree, Ruth owned more clothes than she had ever owned in her life. Her fake jewellery had been replaced by earrings, necklaces and bracelets with real diamonds and real gemstones. Magnus had been a perfect gentleman and under his adoring gaze and praising language and swiftness to pay up, she had almost forgotten that he was old and ugly.
He had shown her the cottage, promising that his daughter’s things would be removed that very night and her own things moved over in the morning. That was a relief. Despite the luxury and worship with which he showered her, Ruth was beginning to long for a moment alone. As the day drew to a close, the dream turned into an increasingly severe headache. She began to feel rather anxious whenever he spoke up, convinced that he would tell her he had changed his mind and he didn’t want her after all. Even his hungry looks, which declared the opposite, began to frighten her. The occasional jostling of the carriage caused her to break out in sweat. She folded her hands tightly in her lap to suppress the tremor. She was in dire need of a drink.
The idea of having to last an entire night with him without a single drink nearly squeezed the breath out of her. She didn’t think she’d be able to do it. When she went up to change – because rich people apparently needed a different set of clothing to eat dinner – she begged and pleaded with Tilly to find her a drink. There was no alcohol left in the house was the brutal answer. The master had ordered every last bottle to be poured away. Ruth raged at the maid. All kindness of that morning and the night before was forgotten.
She took her time coming down, struggling to compose herself. She whispered every curse in the English language at Magnus and his stupid sober face. Finally, she realized she could no longer delay. She went downstairs, dressed in her new lilac evening dress with a low cut, cream gloves and a diamond necklace. She tried to look happy.
Her rage melted away when she saw him, not because the sight was pleasant, but because she realized that his rage was bigger. Was he angry with her for making him wait? He had already begun and was cutting his chicken rather severely, his mind elsewhere. Was he thinking of what else he could cut? Ruth was used to fawning. She approached him quietly but stopped just out of reach. “Magnus, my love. How do I look?” she said in her sweetest voice.
