Free Picture: Model With FurID: 168000 © Ice | Dreamstime Stock Photos "Mademoiselle Montrevoue, your mother wishes an audience." The maid, having spoken her announcement, then averted her eyes from the half-naked woman standing in front of a wall of mirrors in the spacious bedroom.
The dressing woman did not take her eyes from the mirror. "What does she want?"
"I'm sorry, she didn't say. Shall I send her in?"
"Fine, fine, whatever."
The maid opened the door to allow a tall, elegant woman into the room, and then withdrew hastily, closing the door behind her.
"Collette! You are not even dressed yet. How is it that you have your own private designer, a veritable army of tailors, and you are not dressed yet?"
"Not now, Mother. I'm having a crisis."
Collette's mother adjusted her black gauzy shawl and smoothed imaginary wrinkles on her onyx silk dress. "What kind of a crisis?"
Collette pointed to a sleeveless, crimson, velvet dress with a dark brown fur collar hanging on an iron stand near an open voluminous closet. "That is what Theophile would have me wear tonight."
"I think it is lovely."
"Lovely? Lovely!" Collette threw her arms up and stalked over to the stand, grabbing the dress's fur collar. "Am I not Wolfkin enough to produce my own fur?! I shall be a mockery, Mother!"
Collette's mother sauntered over to her distraught daughter and ran her fingers through her long brown hair. "Hush now. No daughter of mine will ever be a mockery. Fur is classic high fashion, and will only go out of style among the rabble. Though you come by it naturally, there is no reason to eschew it as an accent."
"But-"
"No arguments. You wear that fur proudly, and any fool who does not see the beautiful irony is beneath our notice. Now, I expect you dressed and ready in exactly twenty minutes in the foyer. What would be a mockery is arriving to a Loup fete already transformed." Collette's mother kissed Collette on the cheek and turned to leave, but then turned back to her daughter. "Is there accommodation for your tail?"
Collette lifted the dress and flipped it so that her mother could see the plunging back line. "Of course. It is still WolfWear."
The dressing woman did not take her eyes from the mirror. "What does she want?"
"I'm sorry, she didn't say. Shall I send her in?"
"Fine, fine, whatever."
The maid opened the door to allow a tall, elegant woman into the room, and then withdrew hastily, closing the door behind her.
"Collette! You are not even dressed yet. How is it that you have your own private designer, a veritable army of tailors, and you are not dressed yet?"
"Not now, Mother. I'm having a crisis."
Collette's mother adjusted her black gauzy shawl and smoothed imaginary wrinkles on her onyx silk dress. "What kind of a crisis?"
Collette pointed to a sleeveless, crimson, velvet dress with a dark brown fur collar hanging on an iron stand near an open voluminous closet. "That is what Theophile would have me wear tonight."
"I think it is lovely."
"Lovely? Lovely!" Collette threw her arms up and stalked over to the stand, grabbing the dress's fur collar. "Am I not Wolfkin enough to produce my own fur?! I shall be a mockery, Mother!"
Collette's mother sauntered over to her distraught daughter and ran her fingers through her long brown hair. "Hush now. No daughter of mine will ever be a mockery. Fur is classic high fashion, and will only go out of style among the rabble. Though you come by it naturally, there is no reason to eschew it as an accent."
"But-"
"No arguments. You wear that fur proudly, and any fool who does not see the beautiful irony is beneath our notice. Now, I expect you dressed and ready in exactly twenty minutes in the foyer. What would be a mockery is arriving to a Loup fete already transformed." Collette's mother kissed Collette on the cheek and turned to leave, but then turned back to her daughter. "Is there accommodation for your tail?"
Collette lifted the dress and flipped it so that her mother could see the plunging back line. "Of course. It is still WolfWear."
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I Write to Burn Off the Crazy
I Write, I Edit, I Write Again. Witness!
We're Making Better Words, All of Them, Better Words.
I Write to Burn Off the Crazy
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