Alvin Bixby

The cool air was a welcome caress on Sisse's warmed cheeks after the crowded rooms of the Potts' holiday party. Quietly she slipped through the door into the gardens of her friend's home, wrapping her shawl around. It was quiet out here, the snow gently floating down from the moonlit sky, landing on her cheeks, her gown, her hair. Sisse smiled at it, tilting her face up to greet light of the moon before she walked down one of the paths and settled onto a bench.

The evening was calm, a breathe of fresh air in all the chaos inside. Even when her mother had been alive their home had never been this full, this bursting with energy. There were even more people this year than had been here last year, but there was a new saddness in Sisse this year that felt at odds, yet again, with the celebration. She always remembered her mom at this time of year, but there was also the loss of Sloane now. Of Lester. Of all of them. They were growing up and soon Sisse would no longer even be allowed to venture outside on her own like this, to take a moment to breathe and collect herself. She'd always be surrounded.

It was a thought that had begun to plague her, a worry that had started innocently enough these past few months, but had now become something altogether more stressful. How was she to find someone to love if she were always being watched? It wasn't like she hadn't always dreamed of this, but Lester would never have stolen a kiss from her had she not been on her own. Although, perhaps that was why she would never be alone again after graduation, so that such foolish mistakes couldn't happen.

Christmas always reminded her of Lester. Of that night when he'd calmed her worries, held her close, kissed her in the corridor near the Portrait. Of that moment when she had felt that her life was just beginning, that her fairy tale was taking place. How wrong she had been. Not only did Lester not remember that moment, he regretted. The sting from last Christmas came back to her again. And then just when she had thought they'd mended things, that they could at least be friends again, that she wouldn't lose him too to this battle of growing up, Sloane's death had divided them again. She still wrote to him, but it wasn't the same. His letters were always short, trite, as if he were only doing it out of some sort of obligation to her.

Absently, Sisse ran her fingers down her skirt (a bolt of moire fabric she had asked her father for, just for the purpose of a new Christmas gown). She had spent hours this summer working on the gown, determined to have something she was proud of for Christmas. She'd even brought it to school to work on it. The top was of a dark green velvet with puffed sleeves that tapered to just below her elbow, while trailing into the skirt, where the soft sage-green moire trailed elegantly. She had trimmed the gown with a ribbon between the two greens, hints of a dark brown, almost golden color embroidered onto it. While the collar of the gown she had trimmed with a satin fabric of the same color, but solid in color. It was, in Sisse's opinion, the most grown up gown she had ever worn. She was proud of the work that had gone into it, it was a gown for new beginnings, for new hope, for the beginning of another fairy tale. A gown for a lady, the lady she would be. The lady who would find happiness, who would settle into a new life, who would carry the memories of a girl who felt as if the world had tried to break her, but who wouldn't let it.

Sisse felt her shoulders straighten again as she collected herself, pushing away the memories, the fears, the grief, focusing on this moment, on the lady she appeared to be. It was why she had stepped outside, to give herself a moment to remember the good, not just the oppressing worries that grew worse in a crowd. She breathed in the icy winter air, letting her eyes close for a moment. For just a moment she could pretend she was a lady in one of the medieval romances, could pretend that she would get swept off her feet, that music would play. When she opened them she'd hold on to that foolish feeling, stand up and walk back into the Potts' party and hold fast to the hope that came in such a dream. Some day her prince would come. Someday she'd find love. A someday soon.

ooc: Gown inspiration and gown color inspiration