She was lying on her bed, draped in a Marchesa gown, surrounded by velvet and silk.
“I am turning into a monster Madeliene Rose.” Continue reading11
Daydreaming about hopping off trains, donning bold lips and uttering dramatic goodbyes. Hair up in a messy chignon, wearing white on white with nude tones and carrying my valise along the train station with melancholia trailing behind.
donning bold lips and uttering dramatic goodbyes
“The incline was the same down which d’Urberville had driven her so wildly on that day in June. Tess went up the remainder of its length without stopping, and on reaching the edge of the escarpment gazed over the familiar green world beyond, now half-veiled in mist. It was always beautiful from here; it was terribly beautiful to Tess to-day, for since her eyes last fell upon it she had learnt that the serpent hisses where the sweet birds sing, and her views of life had been totally changed for her by the lesson. Verily another girl than the simple one she had been at home was she who, bowed by thought, stood still here, and turned to look behind her. She could not bear to look forward into the Vale.”
– Tess of the D’Urbervilles by Thomas Hardy.
Image via Vogue Russia.
We had sat on opposite wooden benches, resting on opposing marble walls. The cathedral was bare — the wobbly wooden chairs had been removed, exposing Latin prayers and the names of those buried underneath the marble floor. Continue reading193
Even her hair was voluptuous.
She walked ahead of the rest, behind his parents; with flowers in her hair, she held on to her black sheer dress, to the sheer covering her face, as her pace had taken the rhythm of the carriage. The whole village had come to pay their last respects, but all eyes were on her now as she looked straight ahead with a hard face and no tears. She was a glorious vision amid a crowd that sobbed and became hysterical. Continue reading50
“The bride was a shimmering vision; a child under all those layers of fabric, ones she carried with an infectious stillness…”
She had already come to a decision; she wasn’t wearing her engagement ring.
I entered the old ballroom — they made sure she was settled somewhere that allowed for the grandeur of her dress, where there was enough space for her time. The bride was a shimmering vision; a child under all those layers of fabric, ones she carried with an infectious stillness, as inert as the moulding covering the walls of this historic room. I shivered when I saw her in a wedding dress; closing the door behind me, I moved towards her while my gown flowed with every step. Continue reading159