InsaneJournal

Subject: The dresses no one ever wants to buy; Thérèse buys mourning gowns in London, and visits church.
Who: Thérèse du Labarre.
Where: A dress shop in London, a small church outside London.
Warnings: None, besides a Catholic praying in a Protestant church.
Open to: Christopher; whomever may be passing.

Thérèse was amazed at how much black material there was to choose from. So much fabric for one type of dress, that dress that no one wants to buy. No one wants to lose someone so dear that they spend their days in black, weeping in their bedrooms, eating sparingly. But that was exactly what had happened to Thérèse, and that was exactly what she was doing.

The dressmaker fussed around her as she stood in front of the mirror, the black stark against her pale, French skin that she was certain had gotten even paler recently. With pins here and there, measurements, adjustments, the dress took shape on Thérèse's form, but she didn't care what it looked like, not really. This wasn't a fashion thing. This was a necessity thing. Both for Julien, and because she'd lost the majority of her dresses in her escape.

Nonetheless, she couldn't help trying to lift the mood by going back into the front of the shop to look in the large, full-length mirror, throwing her escort a small smile as she did so. "How do I look? Widowed enough?" Her tone was weakly cheerful, that kind of humour that was a breath away from crying.

Dress shopping shouldn't be so miserable.