Post by DEV on Nov 29, 2015 18:46:10 GMT
“Chin up,” she felt the ruler scratch her chin. A bit of force behind the wood made her raise her head to meet the intimidating gaze of her tutor. Sarah Holland, an elderly dame with sharp, icy eyes, and a generally wicked disposition had Emilia in her grasp now. Bony stems masquerading as fingers gripped tightly around Emilia’s jaw, causing a wretched noise to lowly escape her. “Ladies never look down, unless you wish to submit yourself to the common filth.”
“Yes, Miss Holland,” the deep tone of Emilia’s voice warranted a soft smirk from her instructor. Obedience was mandatory. The ruler served as not only an extension of Holland’s hand, but also a tool for punishment. Emilia never felt the sting from a strike, but she has seen it transpire. The more rebellious youth found themselves aching after a strong forehand blow. Their insubordinate streaks were cut short by the slicing hits.
Holland must have praised her gods for Emilia’s constant compliance. In fact, this forged a motherly bond between the two. Since Emilia’s mother was not about, Miss Holland became a stern, but loving figure in Emilia’s life. Nevertheless, their bond only strengthened Holland’s need to enforce her rules. The teachings became harder and longer. Emilia did not crack under the pressure. In fact, she evolved, due to it.
Holland’s instructions and harmful actions were well-intended. Emilia did not rebel against the teachings. Partly due to her enjoyment of Holland’s presence, but also due to her mother’s influence. In a village far off the outskirts of Newry, there existed a school. Fine women were sent here to learn how to be queens. They were educated in many fine arts, making sure they were well-versed in conversation. They were instructed on the many philosophies of the world. Finally, a grand curriculum was manufactured in order to produce an intelligent woman.
In Emilia’s case, she was sent off to fulfill some ornate destiny. Her mother was a graduate. Now she owns a business. Poor Emilia never stood a chance of making her own way. Whether it be maintaining the family lineage or simply to keep Emilia subjugated, the school was all that Emilia has known. Other students eventually fell to her domineering presence. Hatred was evident, but a latent respect prevailed. Emilia was the ruler of her masses, if she knew it or not.
The screeching voice of Sarah Holland became her conscious in many regards, informing in the right way to do things. If Emilia found herself in a dilemma that she knew not the answer to, she would turn to the prevalent instructions. They would tell her what to do. Never did they fail her, either. She graduated from the school with many accolades under her belt. She was forced to leave Sarah Holland behind, knowing not what became of her.
The memory of ol’ she kept close to her heart. She sat in the backseat of a car now, dressed in a long, elegant dark blue dress. Her cutting eyes glazed over from her drifting off. She brought herself back to reality, looking among the city lights. She turned her gaze to make note of her environment. A classy limo with only a solitary gentleman on the other side.
“We are almost to our destination, Lady Waechter,” he spoke. Emilia nodded, before turning her head back to the window. She watched the people of Newry wander about. She let go a breath, losing interest in their petty functions. Soon, the car took a turn down a gravelly road. Emilia smiled gently to herself, knowing that she was about to be freed from the car.
“We are here,” announced the driver. The gentleman, clad in a black suit and a top hat, opened the door. He offered a hand to Emilia, who graciously took it. The gentleman released her hand and withdrew an umbrella.
“Do you wish for shade, Lady Waechter?” he asked. Emilia simply nodded and proceeded to walk down a path. Graves lined the area with many people paying their respects. Eventually, the party reached a solitary one. It was ignored mostly, according to the lack of flowers and the state of the gravestone itself. Emilia shook her head.
“Such disrespect for a fine lady,” she murmured. She put out her hand, prompting her assistant to withdraw a bouquet of flowers. She took them and placed them on the gravestone. It read “Sarah Holland, teacher to many, mother to some.”
Emilia stood there, silent as she was earlier. The gentleman peered at her. “My Lady,” he began, but Emilia’s sudden gaze stopped him.
“We shall go now,” she stated, turning her back to the gravestone. “We have much to do. Miss Holland would strike me for standing here, wasting so much time.”
“Yes, Miss Holland,” the deep tone of Emilia’s voice warranted a soft smirk from her instructor. Obedience was mandatory. The ruler served as not only an extension of Holland’s hand, but also a tool for punishment. Emilia never felt the sting from a strike, but she has seen it transpire. The more rebellious youth found themselves aching after a strong forehand blow. Their insubordinate streaks were cut short by the slicing hits.
Holland must have praised her gods for Emilia’s constant compliance. In fact, this forged a motherly bond between the two. Since Emilia’s mother was not about, Miss Holland became a stern, but loving figure in Emilia’s life. Nevertheless, their bond only strengthened Holland’s need to enforce her rules. The teachings became harder and longer. Emilia did not crack under the pressure. In fact, she evolved, due to it.
Holland’s instructions and harmful actions were well-intended. Emilia did not rebel against the teachings. Partly due to her enjoyment of Holland’s presence, but also due to her mother’s influence. In a village far off the outskirts of Newry, there existed a school. Fine women were sent here to learn how to be queens. They were educated in many fine arts, making sure they were well-versed in conversation. They were instructed on the many philosophies of the world. Finally, a grand curriculum was manufactured in order to produce an intelligent woman.
In Emilia’s case, she was sent off to fulfill some ornate destiny. Her mother was a graduate. Now she owns a business. Poor Emilia never stood a chance of making her own way. Whether it be maintaining the family lineage or simply to keep Emilia subjugated, the school was all that Emilia has known. Other students eventually fell to her domineering presence. Hatred was evident, but a latent respect prevailed. Emilia was the ruler of her masses, if she knew it or not.
The screeching voice of Sarah Holland became her conscious in many regards, informing in the right way to do things. If Emilia found herself in a dilemma that she knew not the answer to, she would turn to the prevalent instructions. They would tell her what to do. Never did they fail her, either. She graduated from the school with many accolades under her belt. She was forced to leave Sarah Holland behind, knowing not what became of her.
The memory of ol’ she kept close to her heart. She sat in the backseat of a car now, dressed in a long, elegant dark blue dress. Her cutting eyes glazed over from her drifting off. She brought herself back to reality, looking among the city lights. She turned her gaze to make note of her environment. A classy limo with only a solitary gentleman on the other side.
“We are almost to our destination, Lady Waechter,” he spoke. Emilia nodded, before turning her head back to the window. She watched the people of Newry wander about. She let go a breath, losing interest in their petty functions. Soon, the car took a turn down a gravelly road. Emilia smiled gently to herself, knowing that she was about to be freed from the car.
“We are here,” announced the driver. The gentleman, clad in a black suit and a top hat, opened the door. He offered a hand to Emilia, who graciously took it. The gentleman released her hand and withdrew an umbrella.
“Do you wish for shade, Lady Waechter?” he asked. Emilia simply nodded and proceeded to walk down a path. Graves lined the area with many people paying their respects. Eventually, the party reached a solitary one. It was ignored mostly, according to the lack of flowers and the state of the gravestone itself. Emilia shook her head.
“Such disrespect for a fine lady,” she murmured. She put out her hand, prompting her assistant to withdraw a bouquet of flowers. She took them and placed them on the gravestone. It read “Sarah Holland, teacher to many, mother to some.”
Emilia stood there, silent as she was earlier. The gentleman peered at her. “My Lady,” he began, but Emilia’s sudden gaze stopped him.
“We shall go now,” she stated, turning her back to the gravestone. “We have much to do. Miss Holland would strike me for standing here, wasting so much time.”
