Style Story


Dress, Cape, Shoes.
Image by Fritha Strickland

Of course it had been a hard week. She had felt trapped, claustrophobic and as if she had a strangely heightened consciousness of everything. This could be considered a skill, a talent and a wonder, but instead it made her recoil, away and into a shadow of herself. She knew she needed to spend time alone and think. So she walked for as long as her legs would take her. Then got home and twirled in a dress, before stepping out into the night. For a date. A swooping, galloping meeting that had quickly and neatly placed her in a bubble, where the world appeared dazed and fuzzy.

Then.

Her outer coat had burst, leaving her less protected by nonchalant armour than before. The walk had helped, she hoped to return to the haze with her eyes open. If return at all. Two weeks had passed and she had known he was going away when they first met. She wondered, how had she got herself in such a twist? Her red heels moved swiftly over the paving stones and her cape flowed behind her. She felt free now, but her heart beat like a drum.

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