Post by Danika Markus on Dec 6, 2008 23:22:13 GMT -5
Danika had an old ring that her mother had given her. She wore it on occasion, but only because it was pretty, not for any sentimental reason, and though Danika was most certainly not engaged, she wore it on her left ring finger. The ring was made from white gold, the band of it with beautiful detail like lace and the several little diamonds in it were almost invisible until the light hit them just right, and then you saw the most beautiful setting on her finger. It had been an engagement ring for someone, or a wedding ring, and on the inside was an inscription, in the tiniest of cursive, "A mi primer amor-- sin yo, tu belleza sólo crecerá." To my first love--without me, your beauty will only grow. The man, or so the story went, was dying when he married her. Sometimes, Danika was brought to tears by the ring. She often wondered if the woman had dared to sully the ring's heart by marrying again. She knew not how her mother had gained possession of it. She didn't want to know.
She was wearing the ring that morning. It was early, very early, and there were so very few people at Breakfast, most of them were the professors. Danika always awoke early, so that she could take her time getting ready. She curled the ends of her hair, and took great care with her mak-eup. Underneath her clothes, she wore things like corsets and she pinned her thigh-high pantihose, the kinds with the seams up the back, to garters. And her clothes were always beautiful and expensive. Catching Danika in a pair of pants would be like catching a Leprechaun with his pot of gold--you might here about it, but it was impossible. On that particular day, Danika was donning a fitted black dress that scooped underneath her breasts and had a gathered skirt. She had a nice ivory coloured blouse on underneath, witch beautiful ruffles. Her shoes were black with peep-toes. Her hair was curled, her lips covered with red lipstick. The only jewellery she wore was the ring.
She took a seat where she usually sat at breakfast, and she crossed her legs delicately and placed a napkin in her lap. On her plate, she put vanilla yoghurt with cinnamon, two crepes, and a few pieces of fresh fruit--grapes, apple slices, and sugared strawberries. She drank tea with whipped cream and lemon. When she ate, she ate with the utmost of grace and with the daily prophet opened to her left. She slid a bit of crepe and strawberry past her bright lips, chewing slowly as she read over a bit of international news, making sure that her parents hadn't gotten into more trouble for refusing to employ half-bloods and muggleborns or kicking a house elf or something. They weren't mentioned, so she could breath a sigh of relief and sip at her tea.
She was wearing the ring that morning. It was early, very early, and there were so very few people at Breakfast, most of them were the professors. Danika always awoke early, so that she could take her time getting ready. She curled the ends of her hair, and took great care with her mak-eup. Underneath her clothes, she wore things like corsets and she pinned her thigh-high pantihose, the kinds with the seams up the back, to garters. And her clothes were always beautiful and expensive. Catching Danika in a pair of pants would be like catching a Leprechaun with his pot of gold--you might here about it, but it was impossible. On that particular day, Danika was donning a fitted black dress that scooped underneath her breasts and had a gathered skirt. She had a nice ivory coloured blouse on underneath, witch beautiful ruffles. Her shoes were black with peep-toes. Her hair was curled, her lips covered with red lipstick. The only jewellery she wore was the ring.
She took a seat where she usually sat at breakfast, and she crossed her legs delicately and placed a napkin in her lap. On her plate, she put vanilla yoghurt with cinnamon, two crepes, and a few pieces of fresh fruit--grapes, apple slices, and sugared strawberries. She drank tea with whipped cream and lemon. When she ate, she ate with the utmost of grace and with the daily prophet opened to her left. She slid a bit of crepe and strawberry past her bright lips, chewing slowly as she read over a bit of international news, making sure that her parents hadn't gotten into more trouble for refusing to employ half-bloods and muggleborns or kicking a house elf or something. They weren't mentioned, so she could breath a sigh of relief and sip at her tea.
