The Seven Deadly Sins

"Come, come Lizzy," My nurse chided me, "We mustn't take long or we'll be late for the Marquis' ceremony."

"Why must I wear this dress Auntie?" I asked, using my long time petname for her. I turned this way and that to see if this white, flower ridden monstrasity of a dress who somehow look decent at one angle. I had been sewn into this supposedly popular dress for girls my age, in my taste though it was like the watchman's dog after he had eaten through our garden. He had thrown up on one of the white ulphostered chairs in my mother's parlor, it's quite graphic I know but it seemed a rather accurate comparison in my eyes.

"It has been requested that you wore this gown," My weathered looking nurse came up beside me in front of the mirror and gave me a toothy smile. It was supposed to be motherly but all I saw was mostly decayed and yellow teeth leering at me, "You look lovely, the Misses has such wonderous taste in fashion."

"Why must you call my parents by such formalities?" I asked curiously as she fixed the askew pieces of dark hair that escaped the tightly wound bun it had been placed in, "You have known them so long, surely there is no need for those titles now."

"Oh my dear Lizzy," She laughed, sounding quite nasely, "You sound like one of those old Lords who spend their days bickering about politics. Sometimes I really do wonder if you are a child."

Before I had a chance to pursue my question, she patted my head, "There," she took my small alabaster hand, "You look like an angel."

"Not as lovely as Rosalie," I muttered, Auntie chose to ignore my comment about my sister. Rosalie, my twin in fact, currently resided in France within the residence of the Queen. She had been sent there at the small age of five when the King and Queen of France heard her delightful laugh on one of their visits to England. It was no surprise to me, everyone adored Rosalie and her impeccaby sweet disposition. She has been in France for almost three years, experiencing the life where she was surrounded by Europe's best scholars and philisophers while I sat in England learning how to sew pillowcases for the parlor.

Even though Rosalie and I were twins, we looked like complete, utter oposites. She was the angelic, golden child with long blonde hair that shone almost white when in the sunlight. Her eyes were gleaming saphires, big and doelike as they peered out from her porceline complexion. According to my mother, she budded early which I wasn't exactly sure what that meant. All I knew was that she outgrew her gowns much faster than I did, somethin I didn't really know whether to be jealous or not of. She was the daintiest, sweet, polite, and wonderful at almost anything (more like everything) she attempted. It was clear that she had a bright future ahead of her, a possible Lady in Waiting for the Queen herself.

I was dark quiet one who inherited my father's looks, the one who holed herself up in the library until my governess dragged me out. Whereas Rosalie was straight and blonde, mine was a deep ebony that hung in loose waves. It fell down around my waist, my mother refused to let me cut it though so it has been growing out for more than three years I believe. My eyes were blue like Rosalie's but they were a darker shade and less vivid than hers. I was skinny and lank, my body closer to looking like a boy's rather than a young girl. I had very little confidence in myself so I mostly hid myself in the library trying to memorize as much as I could. I was often told I was too smart for my own good, sometimes I would agree with them though. Many seemed to get irked by questions, whether they be of life or behavior they just seemed to hate it. I never understood the reasoning of idle conversation; sewing, flower arrangements and the latest fashions were not my ideal topic. Sometimes I would easedrop on my father's conversations with the other Lords and Dukes. They would discuss politics, religion, philosophy and often ended in the most heated arguements. I longed to join them in their conversations, to let myself feel the passion of words flow through me. But unfortunetely, all I got was the forced calm statements from my mother.

"There you are Elizabeth," Speak of the devil and the devil shall appear. My mother stood in the doorway of the small bedchamber known as my room, her eyes were speculating as she took me in. Her pale lavender dress filled up the doorway, its cream lining that edged the sweetheart neckline and coated the underskirt that peered out from the pickups of her lavender silk. Her puffy sleeves didn't overwhelm her fragile body but seemed to make her appear thinner, it was a trick that many Ladies tried but few could pull off. It was quite ridiculous the fashions women went through, lately it was all about overflowing fabrics and more details the better. Hence the dress I had been forced into for today's ceremony.

My mother's hair was somewhat of a mystery, it was neither blonde nor white. But it seemed to get lost underneath all the crystal encrusted combs that decorated the high up-do it had been set in. My mother was very beautiful, but I always wished that she would just go a little simpler with her choices. She floated in and sighed at my appearance, "That gown doesn't suite you at all, didn't I ask that you be put in that lovely blue damask dress she wore for Christmas?"

"Forgive me, My Lady, I thought this would be more appropaite for the occasion," Auntie bowed her head obediantly and began undoing the gown I was in. I smile brightly at my mother, feeling incredibly relieved that she was getting me out of this wreck. She smiled slightly at me before turning her softy blue eyes to Auntie, her face became darker.

"I did not ask for your opinion on the dress, I asked you to change her into the other dress," My mother's voice managed to send shivers down your spine without losing that sweet tone. Auntie scurried away as soon as the dress was off of me, leaving me standing in my thin shift. She turned her gaze back to me with grimace on her dainty face, "My sister has no sense of fashion, how that is fashionable in Spain is quite beyond me."

I cringed inwardly at the thought of my real Aunt, she was one who had a very different idea of how she appeared to people. She had this insufferable infatuation with appearing as young as possible, it was quite depressing to see someone trying so hard. No self-respecting Lady over thirty five would squeeze themselves into tacky pink satin.

Within minutes, my nurse had returned with the deep blue dress and began fastening me into it. Besides the bone crushing corset, this was my absolute favorite dress. My father brought it for me last Christmas and it seemed to suite my simplistic taste the best. It was the exact shade of my eyes except richer and more vibrant, it had a boatneck neckline that rested just above my collarbones and seemed to make my alabaster skin brighter. My full, drapy sleeves were lined with a cream colored fringe, they brushed the knuckles on my hands and kept me quite warm. Of course it didn't give me a figure, no dress would be able to do that but since I was only eight I could manage to skim by on that.

"As you know Elizabeth, you will be sent to France in order to be guided under the wing of Queen Victoria," My mother spoke as she tugged at my dress, trying to make it sit correctly on me, "She was quite pleased with Rosalie and she wants to see if you share the same brightness."

"Will I be boarding with Rosalie during my stay?" I asked quietly, feeling less than excited to see my ever glowing sister.

"Oh no, I don't believe so," My mother was distracted as a loud knock could be heard from outside, "Come in," She called, smoothing down her full skirt.

A young man who couldn't be more than twenty appeared at our door, his attire bearing the royal crest of England. His eyes flickered to me for a breif second, they were a stormy grey and they lingered on me curiously. Most likely wondering why such a dark child would be receiving help from such a beautiful blonde woman. When they landed on my mother though, they became cold and blank, "Good evening My Ladies," he bowed to my mother who curtsied in return, I nodded my head as a greeting for I could not curtsy while dressing, "The King has requested to see you in his chambers My Lady."

I was still too young to fully realized what these words and my mother's suddenly flustered expression meant. Only when I was older would I realize that my mother was in fact the longtime mistress of King Henry. Why may you ask, would a King take a mistress who was already married and already has born children?

First of all, it was quite common for a man to take a mistress, in fact it was more uncommon for a man not to have one. But it was very odd that a woman who was already married to become a mistress, let alone to the King! The King usually became quite fickle with his lovers, it was an infamous occupation that many woman have had but not held. He enjoyed those who were young, curvy and vivacious but none could ever keep his attention for more than a few weeks. My mother certainly wasn't young in the eyes of the court, reaching the age of twenty seven was actually somewhat old.

Despite her age, my mother seemed to hold some kind of charm over men. She even managed to keep my father pleased for he showed no dispute over my mother's place for the King. Though it was most likely enjoyed the benefits it reaped in for us, jewels, money and the valuable social position it gave us as a family.

"Oh well Elizabeth," My mother turned to me, a girlish blush clear on her cheek, "I will be a little delayed for the ceremony, please pass the message onto your father." She swooped down and quickly kissed me on both cheeks before hurrying out the door. The man followed after her but stopped to give me a small smile and a bow, I blushed slightly and admonished myself for being so childish. He was a servant and I was nothing but a mere child.

But my thoughts were soon interrupted when Auntie bustled back in and began hurrying me out the door to the ceremony. A new man was being honored with the title of Marquis in the main hall, it was nothing very interesting though. A few hours worth of pointless chatter, overdone grandeur and the children like I being shoveled to the side to be like trophies and nothing more.

It wasn't till halfway through the boring, predictable, overdone ceremony for the new Marquis did my mother make her reappearance. There were a few distinct differences in her appearance that didn't go unnoticed by many in company, her hair seemed a tad more ruffled and her dress wasn't as smooth as before. She didn't meet anyone's gaze as she made her way towards us, I glanced up at my father's expression curiously but it betrayed no emotion. He barely even looked at my mother as she took her place beside him.

I remember as a little girl, my mother constantly told me that she married my father for love. My father never had much money, he inherited a few small lands from his family but nothing really more than that. His title as a Lord was almost seen as a joke because his inheritance was so little but his talents were quite known and attracted the attention of the King. It also attracted the attention of my mother, she soon fell in love with him and he proposed marriage against the will of many. Including my mother's family, but she claimed that she would give up all the money in the world to be with my father. After the quick marriage between them, she soon bore my sister and I. My father was a hard working man who would do much for his family, he managed to worm his way into the court of King Henry and put his talents as an Engineer into play. He knew more about carriages, horses and weapontry than anyone I had ever met before. Unfortunetely, the King seemed to notice my mother's beauty more than my father's abilities, he soon took her on as his new mistress. It gave us social and fianancial security, but it was not without consequence of course.

Later in life I would wonder if my father agreed with this choice wholeheartedly. If it was truly love, wouldn't he be against sharing his wife with someone else? And wouldn't my mother feel like she was betraying him when she did this?

Love was such a far off thing to me, somthing my governess constantly told me was a fairytale. I would only marry whom my father chose, love was only the cause of adultery and pain to all around them.

Adultery was one of the words our pastor in Church constantly pounded into our heads. He claimed this was one of the seven deadly sins, it was actually the deadliest sin according to him because it broke every bond of trust you had. If you committed it, then you would be eternally damned to the feiry depths of Hell. Ever since I was born, the pastor always told us to fear God's wrath but also to love and trust him with your soul. It was terribly confusing to me, how could you love and fear a man at the same time? The few times I asked these questions, I was greatly reproached and told to recite the Hail MAry fifty times.

"Elizabeth," My mother whispered, I snapped out of my reverie and met her marble blue eyes, "Be attentive, you look as if you're falling asleep."

I bit on my tongue to keep my rude remark from escaping, I literally was falling asleep. All this unnessecary grandeur became terribly boring after the first twenty proclamations made, it lost its glamour long, long, long ago.

There had to be something more for me, even at the meager age of eight I could not fathom that my conversations would forever consist of the latest sewing patterns. I craved adventure, no I needed adventure in my life, when reading the novels of girls who became heroins on their own I would become terribly envious. Something I should confess to the pastor but I never would for I knew he would go to my parents and alert them of my desires. The rush of adrenaline was what I dreamed of, but this damned corset constricted me from doing so.

I looked up to the small party of messengers and scribes to meet a pair of familar gray eyes. As soon as I met them, a chill ran through my body and a sense of foreboding came over me. I brushed it off and turned my gaze over to the glinting threads of the women's dresses. It was soon unnessecary, all this wealth these women spent on clothing was ridiculous and it wasn't even comfortable!

How I didn't know at that age that those eyes would cause so much pain in my future. They would be a clear fixture at one point, one that would seem so unsteady and would be even worse later. Maybe if I knew what was coming than I would have been able to change it, but who knows? All I knew is that I would wish I was eight again, small and dark, easily hidden. I would just have to keep pushing through I guess, like I always did, because in the end everyone would just keep hurting me.

Who knew that I would already have my place set in Hell before the age of twenty five?