Status: Re-uploaded 1/12/2012
Salt
Premonition
It had been a holiday back in time, because that was the only kind of holiday Victoria really liked. Well, also because Christian’s parents owned an old cottage in the little fishing town, but that was only the reason you cited if you wanted to spoil the magic. The house had been inherited by some ancestor of his decades ago, and by the looks of it, had barely been touched since then.
Perfect! Victoria thought when they arrived, gloved hands firm on her narrow hips and her lips pursed in satisfaction. They had been coloured in just that morning. She had chosen a rich, velvety shade of plum, so that against her powdered white skin her pout resembled two black rose petals. Her complexion was nineteenth-century harlequin, and her hair was twisted up on top of her head in a sleek bun, frilled with ribbons to match her doily skirt.
If you were going to go back in time, she resolved, you had to do it right.
If Victoria had a child-like affiliation for dressing up and colouring in, it was nothing compared to her penchant for over-sized things. She liked a persona she could hide in, and she was so tiny that nearly anything she tried on –clothes, make-up, shopping bags– was as comfortable as wearing a cocoon. She particularly enjoyed shoes that felt borrowed, while nearly every piece of jewellery she found trawling through markets was too loose for her elf-sized wrists and fingers.
Recently, she had also taken to wearing Christian’s cosy sweaters, along with pairs of his owl-like glasses. They had been together for a whole year, counting from last summer break, which meant that she could take without asking.
Victoria was like a bowerbird, the way she collected things. Only, instead of displaying them in a nest, she stuck them to herself. She was her own kind of artwork.
She was so snug in her cocoon that she was almost afraid of the kind of person she would if she came out of it.
Standing in the cottage’s sun room, she shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. Change isn’t important right now, she assured herself, and neither is growing up. This is a break from searching for who I am. That’s what’s so great about the past.
What she forgot was that her self could find her anywhere. She really was a very rude person, when it comes to disrupting her own holidays. She could try to stop time with beautiful things, but when an ugly truth decided to hunt for her, even the most dramatic disguises couldn’t save her from it.
A shiver ran up her spine as she stared through the window, past the faded lace curtains, out to the vast, aching sea. Maybe she was just overreacting.
She could have sworn she’d had a glimpse of premonition.
Perfect! Victoria thought when they arrived, gloved hands firm on her narrow hips and her lips pursed in satisfaction. They had been coloured in just that morning. She had chosen a rich, velvety shade of plum, so that against her powdered white skin her pout resembled two black rose petals. Her complexion was nineteenth-century harlequin, and her hair was twisted up on top of her head in a sleek bun, frilled with ribbons to match her doily skirt.
If you were going to go back in time, she resolved, you had to do it right.
If Victoria had a child-like affiliation for dressing up and colouring in, it was nothing compared to her penchant for over-sized things. She liked a persona she could hide in, and she was so tiny that nearly anything she tried on –clothes, make-up, shopping bags– was as comfortable as wearing a cocoon. She particularly enjoyed shoes that felt borrowed, while nearly every piece of jewellery she found trawling through markets was too loose for her elf-sized wrists and fingers.
Recently, she had also taken to wearing Christian’s cosy sweaters, along with pairs of his owl-like glasses. They had been together for a whole year, counting from last summer break, which meant that she could take without asking.
Victoria was like a bowerbird, the way she collected things. Only, instead of displaying them in a nest, she stuck them to herself. She was her own kind of artwork.
She was so snug in her cocoon that she was almost afraid of the kind of person she would if she came out of it.
Standing in the cottage’s sun room, she shook her head, ridding herself of the thought. Change isn’t important right now, she assured herself, and neither is growing up. This is a break from searching for who I am. That’s what’s so great about the past.
What she forgot was that her self could find her anywhere. She really was a very rude person, when it comes to disrupting her own holidays. She could try to stop time with beautiful things, but when an ugly truth decided to hunt for her, even the most dramatic disguises couldn’t save her from it.
A shiver ran up her spine as she stared through the window, past the faded lace curtains, out to the vast, aching sea. Maybe she was just overreacting.
She could have sworn she’d had a glimpse of premonition.