For All Time ficlet, 'The Armoire'
The Armoire
By Missbevcrusher
Rated K
Synopsis: The armoire stood off to the corner, tall, filled with secrets. One of the doors slightly ajar, it seemed to call and beckon.
Standard disclaimer: For All Time and all its characters belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Please note: This fic is a one shot and is not part of my 'Through Time & Seasons' saga.
Thanks go out to franglaisy for giving it a quick once over this afternoon.
The armoire stood off to the corner, tall, filled with secrets. One of the doors slightly ajar, it seemed to call and beckon.
Careful not to make a sound, Mary approached the imposing piece of furniture-one quiet step then another.
Sunlight warming her hand, she reached for the wooden knob, opened the door.
The first thing that always struck her about this armoire was the scent. It was nice, comforting even-a blend of softwood and dried flowers. The latter came from the small pouch attached to the inside of the door. It made her smile and shut her eyes as she drew a breath.
The scent was that of her mother’s, or more precisely the scent of her dresses. Mary loved it for it was synonymous with care and gentleness.
Curious eyes scanned the lower shelf, noting the box on the right. It contained memories-pictures, glasses, and a few other things.
While she wanted nothing more than to open the lid and take a peek inside, Mary decided not to. This was her mother’s special box and she would wait for those quiet evenings when they would sit on the edge of the bed and look through it together.
Hand journeying toward blue fabric hanging amid an array of creams, browns, and yellows, Mary smiled.
This was her favourite dress.
She was especially fond of the fitted vest that went atop the delicate white blouse.
I’ll have one just like it someday…
Casting a glance to the vanity across the room, Mary gathered her braids and held them up at the nape of her neck.
She loved how her mother would gather her hair in an elegant bun.
One day, she would be all grown up and would do the same.
And just like her mother, Mary would make something of her life.
Perhaps she would follow in her mother’s footsteps and become a woman editor. Perhaps she would do something else.
But no matter what goal she set for herself, Mary knew that her mother would encourage her.
I am Mary Brown.
Lifting her chin, she regarded herself for a moment or two.
People often made the remark that she was opinionated but Mary did not see it that way. She was simply confident, a trait born out of being told that she could achieve anything she set her mind to.
Her mother was confident as well, just she had this air about her, soft and gentle. People liked her-even some of those who did not agree with her owning a business.
Proud…
Mary was proud of her mother.
Not only that but she knew her mother was proud of her too.
And so, with one final look at the dresses that hung neatly before her, Mary started to close the armoire.
Her mother’s things once again hidden from view, she quietly made her way across the room, to the door where she looked over her shoulder one last time.
One day, I’ll have an armoire like that.
By Missbevcrusher
Rated K
Synopsis: The armoire stood off to the corner, tall, filled with secrets. One of the doors slightly ajar, it seemed to call and beckon.
Standard disclaimer: For All Time and all its characters belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Please note: This fic is a one shot and is not part of my 'Through Time & Seasons' saga.
Thanks go out to franglaisy for giving it a quick once over this afternoon.
The armoire stood off to the corner, tall, filled with secrets. One of the doors slightly ajar, it seemed to call and beckon.
Careful not to make a sound, Mary approached the imposing piece of furniture-one quiet step then another.
Sunlight warming her hand, she reached for the wooden knob, opened the door.
The first thing that always struck her about this armoire was the scent. It was nice, comforting even-a blend of softwood and dried flowers. The latter came from the small pouch attached to the inside of the door. It made her smile and shut her eyes as she drew a breath.
The scent was that of her mother’s, or more precisely the scent of her dresses. Mary loved it for it was synonymous with care and gentleness.
Curious eyes scanned the lower shelf, noting the box on the right. It contained memories-pictures, glasses, and a few other things.
While she wanted nothing more than to open the lid and take a peek inside, Mary decided not to. This was her mother’s special box and she would wait for those quiet evenings when they would sit on the edge of the bed and look through it together.
Hand journeying toward blue fabric hanging amid an array of creams, browns, and yellows, Mary smiled.
This was her favourite dress.
She was especially fond of the fitted vest that went atop the delicate white blouse.
I’ll have one just like it someday…
Casting a glance to the vanity across the room, Mary gathered her braids and held them up at the nape of her neck.
She loved how her mother would gather her hair in an elegant bun.
One day, she would be all grown up and would do the same.
And just like her mother, Mary would make something of her life.
Perhaps she would follow in her mother’s footsteps and become a woman editor. Perhaps she would do something else.
But no matter what goal she set for herself, Mary knew that her mother would encourage her.
I am Mary Brown.
Lifting her chin, she regarded herself for a moment or two.
People often made the remark that she was opinionated but Mary did not see it that way. She was simply confident, a trait born out of being told that she could achieve anything she set her mind to.
Her mother was confident as well, just she had this air about her, soft and gentle. People liked her-even some of those who did not agree with her owning a business.
Proud…
Mary was proud of her mother.
Not only that but she knew her mother was proud of her too.
And so, with one final look at the dresses that hung neatly before her, Mary started to close the armoire.
Her mother’s things once again hidden from view, she quietly made her way across the room, to the door where she looked over her shoulder one last time.
One day, I’ll have an armoire like that.