Penelope Featherington Rutherford (featherington) wrote in thedoorway, @ 2015-02-22 23:04:00 |
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Music played as if far away, and couples waltzed on the edge of Penelope’s peripherary. Her nerves, already jangled and not recovered by the measley two hours of sleep she’d managed in the facsimile of her own apartment. There were hundreds of candles, in the chandeliers, in candle holders, in candelabras all over the ballroom. All of them served to make the room overbright, and the tiny flames of all of those candles also helped to make the room warm. Dozens, if not hundreds, of other bodies warm with exertion did their part to make Penelope overwarm, although everyone else seemed to be perfectly at their ease. Her hair was drooping, her dress was tired, and Penelope felt as dull as she was constantly accused of being. But worst of all was standing with Cressida Twombley beside her, whispering in her ear. Her friends weren’t coming. Wouldn’t they already be there if they were? Their claims to be coming for her were merely lies, and Peneope knew it. Just as she knew that the good life she’d been making for herself was a lie. In England she’d not been anything special, not even with her portfolio of articles attributed to Lady Whistledown. According to the cell phone Penelope still had, and which was losing battery quickly, she’d been here for very nearly two whole days. And yet, here she was, no one but herself to come to her own defense. Even Eloise and Lady Bridgerton, whom she had thought might come to her aid, had stood to the side, smiling awkwardly. Penelope’s protests, her claims of what she’d accomplished, the friends she’d made -- all of it fell on deaf ears. Every insecurity that had been seeded and nurtured since she was a child reared its ugly head, adding their voices to the one whispering into her ear. A sob stuck in her chest, aching and threatening to bubble up, sending her crying to the ladies’ room -- and from there, she didn’t know. She sniffed, and looked down, closing her eyes and trying not to listen. But she heard her name, and at first the voice sounded like all the others, hissing and devilish. A second time, and the voice was familiar -- the voices. Inhaling sharply, Penelope snapped her eyes open and looked up. Yes! Tony, Helena, Henry, Lydia, Mary Margaret, Fandral -- and Sully. Dear Sully, grown so close to her and one that, perhaps, she would love if given the chance. All of them, her champions always, encouraging her even in this dark place. Helping her to believe that the dreams she nurtured could become reality and assuring her that she was important. She remembered that when she saw them, they didn’t see the wallflower. They didn’t see the pimply seventeen-year-old who was still holding onto childhood weight. They saw beyond the terrible clothes, into her heart, and knew her for the kind, witty, warm person that she was. Penelope remembered that they saw all of this, and they were here, and they were coming closer. The cruel words, none of them new, all of them spoken before, grew louder. Penelope caught Helena’s eyes, and then Lydia’s, saw the shock. She turned to Cressida, and saw that Cressida herself had changed. Penelope saw herself in Cressida, saw how she’d taken what had been said and hinted at, and turned it into a near-unbreakable belief about herself. That belief had cracked, once upon a time, but now it was almost gone. She felt a presence at her back, and a smooth, cool hand slid into her own. Heart pounding, she turned her head. Lydia, her face so like her own, but their stories had written lines on them that showed their characters so clearly. Lydia, her spirit true and brave, held tightly to Penelope’s hand. Another hand, large and warm, the callouses on his finger brushing against her palm, announced Sully’s silent support, as well. “Stop.” The cacophany continued, but it hadn’t grown louder, unlike the other times that she’d attempted to speak up. “You’re wrong. Stop.” There was no polite pleases added; these were commands, said as firmly as Penelope could muster. The echoing whispers dimmed somewhat, and Sully’s hand came up to rest firmly on her shoulder, squeezing slightly. Penelope’s resolve, already beginning to waver, firmed once more, and she allowed herself to tap into the well of rage that the past two days had wrought. “STOP, I SAY! STOP. YOU. ARE. WRONG!” She took the glass of wine from Cressida’s hand and with one flick of her wrist, threw it on her bully. The glass shattered when she threw it, and she stepped forward, towards Cressida, and she pushed her. “You. Are. Wrong. You have always been wrong and you always will be. You are literally the worst person I have ever known. For years you held me up as a paragon of everything that a young woman doesn’t want to be, but it is you who should be on that pedestal! You are nasty, cruel, belittling anyone and everyone who does not agree with your words.” Again Penelope pushed Cressida, who seemed to shrink, surprise and fear making her speechless. “I am worth far more than you ever could dream, than I could ever dream. I am valued. I have friends, who care for me. I have far more to offer than you ever could, and you are so jealous of me. You must have seen something admirable in me when we met, for you to have taken on the task of destroying my self-confidence so thoroughly. Even when you thought I was beaten, you still continued, and then you learned the truth about me, and that frightened you. How could I, Penelope Anne Featherington, be so successful? Have my words quoted? How dare I even be content with the lot you decided was mine?” Another step forward, and Penelope pushed Cressida again, to the floor, and stood over her in a dress that was now no longer the horrible tangerine color of one of her worst memories, but a shade of red that complimented her perfectly. She felt powerful, a woman who knew her own self-worth. She spoke, and as she did, Cressida shrunk more and more, until she was no bigger than a mouse. “No more. You have no more power over me. I am so much more than I or anyone else thought I could be. Go away.” Cressida vanished. Penelope stared at that spot, breathing heavily, for many long, long moments before she turned around and looked at her friends. They were the only ones in a now-empty ballroom, lit only by a few candelabra, and even those were extinguishing one by one. “I want to go home now.” The candles obliged, winking out until they were shrouded in darkness. Soft as a whisper a wind blew, and they were in Penelope’s apartment, at home and safe. |