(no subject)
In the basement of The Compound, Emma Skillpa knelt on the floor, a pile of neatly folded clothes on the floor beside her while she searched elbow-deep in the box for the perfect dress.
She'd never been to a New Years Eve party before. Until she arrived on the island, she'd never been to a party at all. John didn't think too highly of that sort of thing, his fears and neuroses holding him back, keeping the two of them trapped alone in that horrible house. Now, there was nothing keeping her chained to a home that wasn't even hers.
She had plans. When the new term started, she would sign up for classes. She would get an education. She would learn things, and be a woman with real ambition. She'd develop skills, one day she'd get a job, and maybe in the distant future, she'd make a family of her own.
But for now, she could play the part of the shallow little girl, concerned with nothing more than finding a pretty dress for a party. Hidden inside a pillow case, she'd stowed away sets of frilly underthings, garters and brassieres and silk stockings and shockingly tiny panties, all of which made her blush. But she saved them, feeling like she was getting away with some kind of awful crime. The adrenaline rush of it made her giddy.
She was shaving her legs regularly, now, plucking and keeping herself meticulously groomed. She'd found a bottle of nail polish and she'd painted her nails, letting them grow longer than John had ever allowed her. She felt little guilt for being so obsessed with her own appearance. It was a bit like being a teenager, waking up to your own body and all the things it could do.
Pulling out a sparkly black party dress, Emma pushed to her feet, holding the dress up to herself and looking down at where the hem fell well above her knees.
Laughing quietly to herself, she tossed the dress back into the box. Maybe not something that short, she decided.
She'd never been to a New Years Eve party before. Until she arrived on the island, she'd never been to a party at all. John didn't think too highly of that sort of thing, his fears and neuroses holding him back, keeping the two of them trapped alone in that horrible house. Now, there was nothing keeping her chained to a home that wasn't even hers.
She had plans. When the new term started, she would sign up for classes. She would get an education. She would learn things, and be a woman with real ambition. She'd develop skills, one day she'd get a job, and maybe in the distant future, she'd make a family of her own.
But for now, she could play the part of the shallow little girl, concerned with nothing more than finding a pretty dress for a party. Hidden inside a pillow case, she'd stowed away sets of frilly underthings, garters and brassieres and silk stockings and shockingly tiny panties, all of which made her blush. But she saved them, feeling like she was getting away with some kind of awful crime. The adrenaline rush of it made her giddy.
She was shaving her legs regularly, now, plucking and keeping herself meticulously groomed. She'd found a bottle of nail polish and she'd painted her nails, letting them grow longer than John had ever allowed her. She felt little guilt for being so obsessed with her own appearance. It was a bit like being a teenager, waking up to your own body and all the things it could do.
Pulling out a sparkly black party dress, Emma pushed to her feet, holding the dress up to herself and looking down at where the hem fell well above her knees.
Laughing quietly to herself, she tossed the dress back into the box. Maybe not something that short, she decided.