Estella
Title: Estella
Author: litlover12
Rating: PG
Fandoms: Great Expectations
Characters: Estella, with mention of Miss Havisham and Pip
Word Count: 200
Summary: Estella's thoughts after the argument with Miss Havisham.
Author's Note: I want to do a series on Dickens's female characters. This is the first entry.
Only a little tired of myself, I said.
She didn’t believe me, of course; as I ascend the stairs, I can still hear her weeping wildly below. She no more believed my words than Pip has ever believed a word I said to him. It seems to be my fate to speak the truth and not be believed.
Nevertheless, it is the truth.
Gaining my own chamber, I shut the door behind me. Despite the gathering gloom, I can see myself clearly in the glass. My features, my eyes, my hair-so many commodities, to be paraded and judged, to bring a fair price in a good market.
The face in the glass appears suddenly weary. This room is one of the few in the house that is kept scrupulously clean, but I can almost see the cobwebs gathering silently about me.
Yes, I am tired-tired of everything. Tired of those who fawn upon me . . . and yes, tired of myself for inspiring such uncontrollable and distasteful emotions. It is time, I begin to think, for a change. The life I contemplate has its disadvantages, certainly; but how it could possibly be more tiresome than this life?
Author: litlover12
Rating: PG
Fandoms: Great Expectations
Characters: Estella, with mention of Miss Havisham and Pip
Word Count: 200
Summary: Estella's thoughts after the argument with Miss Havisham.
Author's Note: I want to do a series on Dickens's female characters. This is the first entry.
Only a little tired of myself, I said.
She didn’t believe me, of course; as I ascend the stairs, I can still hear her weeping wildly below. She no more believed my words than Pip has ever believed a word I said to him. It seems to be my fate to speak the truth and not be believed.
Nevertheless, it is the truth.
Gaining my own chamber, I shut the door behind me. Despite the gathering gloom, I can see myself clearly in the glass. My features, my eyes, my hair-so many commodities, to be paraded and judged, to bring a fair price in a good market.
The face in the glass appears suddenly weary. This room is one of the few in the house that is kept scrupulously clean, but I can almost see the cobwebs gathering silently about me.
Yes, I am tired-tired of everything. Tired of those who fawn upon me . . . and yes, tired of myself for inspiring such uncontrollable and distasteful emotions. It is time, I begin to think, for a change. The life I contemplate has its disadvantages, certainly; but how it could possibly be more tiresome than this life?