LILY
oh, cover your crystal eyes
and let your colors bleed and blend with mine
and let your colors bleed and blend with mine
Much like a child, the woman who enjoys beautiful things (and beautiful people) is momentarily soothed by a quiet voice and soft touch until she is effectively distracted by the shiny, sparkly bits with a sniff and a slightly sulky “Ok.” She accepts the redirection. At another time, Lily would have been first out the door to scout for flowers and winter plants, would have drunk wine with Remi and rejoiced in her friend’s upcoming nuptials. Because yes, Loren, Rexanna is her friend… you can tell because too often we hurt the ones we love the most.
A flush of embarrassment runs up her neck, after she stares at the jewelry box for a minute, the rage falling back (for now). They are all kind enough to keep quiet about her outburst, and for that, Lily is grateful. By now she knows it’s not her fault, it’s the blight, but it doesn’t keep her from feeling ashamed about her emotional tourettes, because she is, after all, still a product of a society that says hysterical women should be locked away, that manners and breeding are still paramount. Manners she normally has - breeding she does not, and there is still a part of Lily which, like balancing on the edge of a high edifice, fears the fall.
She reaches out with a trembling hand for the pieces, extravagant and simple alike, then takes a quick peek over her shoulder to see what Remi’s been working on. It’s more mannequin than fabric, so with a squint into the box, she chooses two long necklaces and holds them up, closing one eye and then the other in order to see which might match best. Neither of them are to her liking, so she takes the whole jewelry box in one and systematically begins to go through it all while Remi works and adds or detracts.
Until at some point, she drops the box. Her hands just aren’t steady enough, or she turns too quickly, or something else distracts her. It falls to the ground and sends Rex’s pretty things skittering across the ground. Though nothing is broken (she doesn’t think anything is), the sound and the looks it surely draws set her lip trembling, until it begins to curl again the tell-tale signs of blight!rage begin to resurface.
