Becoming Sophia (70)

“I can’t go to the ball! I’m hardly of age!”

“You’re fifteen, are you not?”

“Well yes… but what would I wear?” Georgette grinned ruefully and told me to wait just a minute. She left for a few moments and returned holding my mother’s gown in her hands.

“I couldn’t wear that!” I gasped.

“Why not? You’re just about the same size! And ivory—what a lovely color for your complexion! See how these jewels bring out the shine of your eyes?”

“I—I—” I didn’t know what to say, but I suppose Georgette took my sputtering for agreement. She wasted no time in fitting me out in my mother’s dress. I have to admit… the fabric felt good against my skin. It had been so long since I had worn clothes of quality, I had forgotten what it was like. The silk was pulled tightly over my bust and the whalebone bodice effectively narrowed my waist. Georgette was right; the dress did fit well.

‘So this is what it feels like…’ I mused silently to myself, ‘this is what it’s like to spend time with your mother.’

View this story's 2 comments.