Thread: A different side of life [Ebony x Kolath]

Genevieve Madeleine Jafferison pulled the hood up on her long cloak. She was wearing a feeble disguise in hope that no-one would recognise her. Being a princess, there was no real time for her to escape the prejudice of her daily life. And with the growing promise of her inevitable marriage looming, Genevieve felt like sometimes it was all too much. She didn't resent the fact that marriage wasn't a question, it was a statement, but she did feel like sometimes the weight of her future suffocated her. She was reminded constantly about how much she was turning into her mother, not only in her looks, but also in her action and personality. Genevieve imagined her mother, the regal, composed creature that sat upon the throne next to the ruler of her country. Like Genevieve, Queen Victoria had the same long, soft blonde hair that hung down to her waist. Unlike Genevieve however, it was always styled in an elaborate hairstyle, swept away from her face. They both had the same delicate heart-shaped face, adorned with high cheekbones and full red lips. The only resemblance Genevieve shared with her father, King Oliver, were her intelligent gray eyes. Her eyes were one of her best features. Perfect almond shape, bordered by full lashes and filled with wisdom beyond her young years. Young. That was a controversial word thrown around the palace. At seventeen, it seemed almost scandalous that Genevieve wasn't married yet. Often, her mother had told her that she was married herself two years before her, and that she would waste her chances at being a mother if she delayed any longer, but Genevieve chose to ignore her. Her father had made it clear that it was better to wait and find the right man, then rush into a marriage that was wrong for both. Genevieve was taught to take no opinion in the matter, and just listen. In the end, after the shouting had died down, Victoria would storm out of the room and Genevieve would live in chaste for another day. Though many compared Genevieve to the sharp, stubborn nature of her mother, she liked to think she was more like her calm and thoughtful father. Her two parents were so vastly different, it sometimes surprised her that they could even be civil to each other. Oliver was water while Victoria was fire. Genevieve thought she was somewhere in the middle. A warm breeze which headed it's own way, oblivious to it's surroundings. Of course, her life was quite the opposite. Not only was she completely aware of her dangerous and controlled surroundings, but she was also tied down by the wishes of her demanding mother, and the role she had to play as her father's daughter. That was why she had run away. Well, it wasn't exactly running away. She had confronted her parents, telling them she wished to leave to gain some experience in the world beyond the golden gates of the castle, but what she didn't tell them is when she would return. She didn't have any plans or any idea of how she would live in the village, but she trusted her resilience and dedication to see her through her adventure. Though she was a princess, Genevieve had a certain number of skills that one would expect to come from someone of her status. For one, she was a very skilled liar and actress. Secondly, she had a natural talent at creating things. Though she had only ever practised on the small scale of her mothers spinning needle, Genevieve knew she had a knack at making objects. She hoped that somehow her skills would come in handy and she would be able to gain a job. She was wearing a long gray cloak, but underneath she was wearing something that would have been unacceptable in the castle. For one, she was not wearing a skirt or a dress. Instead, she had taken some old riding linens to make her look the part. Instead of a jewelled tunic, she wore a quilted doublet with a black corset around her tiny waist. Upon her feet, were shoes made of silk usually sat, lay leather boots that also were once riding boots till they became worn and useless. Her hair was tied back with an old ratty ribbon and her face was smudged with dirt. Instead of silk gloves, she wore fingerless ones made of thin gray wool. She looked like a poor villager, and her slight frame did wonders to make the part more believable. She was ready to try and find a new life.