A victorian rich bastard description

Despite having to always look into the golden mirror I can now see that I am quite different. I was once drained with inelegance in my life where I used to dig potatoes’ all day with my bare hands. The ever so sore blisters that I once had are now healed. My hands now don’t even need to become dirty as I am a mistress!  I remember once my brother had pushed me into a pile of squalid damp soil that smelt so foul enough to kill you. However, here I am free from the dangers of daft brother... but I do miss him dearly. I do think about the times when I was a farm girl, dressed in filthy old overalls and a sunhat in bare feet. I’m not so sure now whether I like this life or the old life.

On my dressing table sits this long silver slivering snake with its head decorated with zigzags as a border carved tightly into the metal. The base of the metal at the top of its head are flowers all over the top; leaving a simple empty background for the middle becoming a centre. The words ‘my love’ emblazoned onto the front compartment of the locket shows the antagonizing words to coherently show myself up that I am ruined. I pick up the silver poisonous snake with caution so that I wouldn’t break it. I clip the locket round my neck to show that I am committed to this relationship that I have. The deleterious creature strangling my throat is the everlasting pain that I will be going through until the day I die. This gift has shown me the dangers of this relationship, yet I choose to stay.

I look down at the table and my gaze drops on this parchment. The sandy coloured paper rolled in neatly as I had received it. It contains all the love that I will ever get from my mother as she cannot contact me at all. The crinkled piece of paper which had writing on the front of it. A bill, with the amount we had to pay for our house. Behind it hid my mother’s loving words. As I unroll the parchment, I can visibly see my mother’s terrible handwriting. Black blotches of ink smeared in different places. She had tried her best to write as she did not have much of an education, having been brought up in a destitute family. My mother gave me this letter hoping that I would change my mind in leaving. She expressed the love that she had for me and now I’ve left, she’s probably mad at me for leaving; I had no choice.

Ruby red, the burning fire of hell sits on my head. The black crow’s feathers affixed to it, making it look life less. The silky materials making it look glossy and rich fit enough for a queen to wear. My pale skin is no match to this vibrant colour. I never imagined wearing such a hat that is as beautiful as this one.

Back at the farm, I used to always ask my mother for such a hat that would dazzle and glimmer. I wanted to be distinctive and be less like the other girls. She used to tell me that we couldn’t afford to buy a hat like that. I felt that hot air rushing through my body.  I wanted a hat and I wanted it now but my anger left me shattering the only glass we had into millions of tiny pieces leaving the kitchen floor like glistening clear gems. My mother had felt hopeless that she couldn’t give me all the things that I ever wanted. For my 15^th birthday she had gifted me this woven straw hat. It wasn’t like the fancy hat that I wanted; I was just happy that I owned such a loving hat. The straws were neatly woven into place, I could tell that my mother put a lot of effort into making this hat and I could never compare it to this treacherous one on my head. I’d give anything to wear my mother’s hat.

Soft silky and white with red swirly writing stitched with ‘Melia’ my name on it. The rich material neatly cut in a square shape and the edges sewn neatly. This is the only thing that comforts me after having a bad day. It knows all my secrets for when I weep the soft silky handkerchief reminds of fluffy my white cat back at home. I guess this is the only gift that will ever be dear to me that Mr Churchill has given to me. This handkerchief is my life: the afflictions I go through as the day passes are never ending. My Handkerchief is my companion in this life. It is useful to me as a day passes I tend to weep a lot and the handkerchief dries my tears of melancholy until it is drenched with water. It wipes away my sadness and makes me continue with my façade life of being a Victorian woman. The semblance of playing a cheerful Victorian woman is no longer fun anymore; I am forced to do so.

Gazing at the mirror, I pick up the silver steel brush with the big crimson gem on the back of it. I start to brush my thin lock of hair through it. The stiffness of the brush hurting as a single hair falls out due to the force of the brush. Tears drop from m eyes leaving water stains on my laced cerise dress. I guess Victorian women are used to this kind of pain so I will have to adjust too. There’s so much pain into being a perfect woman. If you aren’t neatly dressed and beautiful in this society you are regarded as an animal. In this society everyone is looking for someone who has the beauty and is affluent. There is no room for sympathising. I guess my feelings can stay for my families and friends to deal with. In this hamlet I have to be what everyone else is.

Setting down the brush next to the identical looking mirror. I get up to face another day of a Victorian wealthy woman’s life. I shall be going to the dance with Mr Churchill this afternoon. Life is a haze now that I have to keep thinking ahead instead of thinking about the farm life that I once used to live. The change from being a farm girl to an elegant Victorian woman is a substantial change in which I want to be successful at. I may be ruined but hopefully one day I will be approved of.