(no subject)
She remembered crying when she was still a girl in House Madrass, and one of the other girls had spitefully told her that she'd never amount to anything and that she was an ugly, dark little girl with frizzy hair and bony hands.
This was back when blondes were in fashion.
Inara had very quickly learned to define her own fashion, to put aside those opinions which did nothing to further any purpose at all, and to wage her own quiet battles of self-esteem and self-knowledge. She learned how the simplest of words could prick like the sharpest of swords, when to smile and when to dance and when to stay perfectly still and watch everyone in the room forget her so she could listen unimpeded.
She hadn't cried since then. There hadn't been a reason. She'd thought she was past letting anything hurt her that much, even when she landed on a strange little ship with an even stranger (and very rude) captain.
But people had a habit of working their way in. She hadn't realized how much until she saw him and Nandi the next day. And she loved Nandi. But in that moment there was fire in her cheeks, and there was fury, and there was a twisting in her gut that made her want to be sick.
Inara was proud of herself. The way she'd handled it, calm and collected, even poking Mal (with maybe a little more thrust than she'd meant to give it) about Nandi's taste.
But in the tiny room she'd been given, when no one was looking, she cried.
Inara Serra // Firefly // 267 words
This was back when blondes were in fashion.
Inara had very quickly learned to define her own fashion, to put aside those opinions which did nothing to further any purpose at all, and to wage her own quiet battles of self-esteem and self-knowledge. She learned how the simplest of words could prick like the sharpest of swords, when to smile and when to dance and when to stay perfectly still and watch everyone in the room forget her so she could listen unimpeded.
She hadn't cried since then. There hadn't been a reason. She'd thought she was past letting anything hurt her that much, even when she landed on a strange little ship with an even stranger (and very rude) captain.
But people had a habit of working their way in. She hadn't realized how much until she saw him and Nandi the next day. And she loved Nandi. But in that moment there was fire in her cheeks, and there was fury, and there was a twisting in her gut that made her want to be sick.
Inara was proud of herself. The way she'd handled it, calm and collected, even poking Mal (with maybe a little more thrust than she'd meant to give it) about Nandi's taste.
But in the tiny room she'd been given, when no one was looking, she cried.
Inara Serra // Firefly // 267 words