For once in her life Ursula was trying very hard not to stand out. It was her first time out in society since she'd withdrawn and she was on edge. She was certain that there were people present this evening who thought she'd died, probably thanks to The Daily Prophet and hearing nothing contrary after that article had been written. While she'd only sent a select few deathbed letters she still felt as though everyone looking at her this evening thought her a melodramatic fool. She very nearly had died but what did that matter when she'd been so adamant that she was going to die and then hadn't? It certainly didn't help that she hadn't completely regained the weight she'd lost; her cheekbones were a little more prominent than they had been but to her they seemed very harsh and angular and it was all she could focus on in the mirror.
But she had a new dress and it was the perfect sort of place to start easing back in to things so she had convinced herself it was a good idea. She certainly didn't have the physical or mental strength for a ball yet. It hadn't seemed like a bad idea until shortly after arriving when she thought she'd caught someone staring at her a moment longer than was typically polite. From then on she'd been determinedly paranoid, she'd even thought she'd spotted Thomas Pettigrew at one point which had put the fear of god in her. She'd probably just imagined it, worked up as she was, and with time she'd convinced herself she'd done just that.
The evening had eventually progressed to cards which she'd had absolutely no intention of participating in. Not until an acquaintance had invited her to join in and she'd felt obliged to in order to avoid drawing further attention to herself for being seemingly uncharitable. The game was entertaining enough but she quickly realized she was already too tired to really enjoy it. The tables started to rotate and Ursula looked about for some sign of how much longer it would go on for. When she turned to see who her new partner was she nearly knocked her deck off the table. In her surprise she failed to stop the look of wide-eyed horror on her face at the sight of him. Clearly she hadn't been imagining things earlier, why had she dismissed herself so readily? Finally she did school her expression into something more neutral but her eyes were betraying her.
"Good evening," she lowered her eyes to her cards, unable to continue looking him in the face. How was she supposed to play cards when all she could think about was that letter. How could she make smalltalk with him after all the time she'd spent feverish and fixating over how he'd received her letter. There was no way, she was lost for words, she couldn't even tear her eyes off of her hand for fear of what she'd find if she did. Death was preferable, for the love of Merlin why hadn't the fever taken her?!
But she had a new dress and it was the perfect sort of place to start easing back in to things so she had convinced herself it was a good idea. She certainly didn't have the physical or mental strength for a ball yet. It hadn't seemed like a bad idea until shortly after arriving when she thought she'd caught someone staring at her a moment longer than was typically polite. From then on she'd been determinedly paranoid, she'd even thought she'd spotted Thomas Pettigrew at one point which had put the fear of god in her. She'd probably just imagined it, worked up as she was, and with time she'd convinced herself she'd done just that.
The evening had eventually progressed to cards which she'd had absolutely no intention of participating in. Not until an acquaintance had invited her to join in and she'd felt obliged to in order to avoid drawing further attention to herself for being seemingly uncharitable. The game was entertaining enough but she quickly realized she was already too tired to really enjoy it. The tables started to rotate and Ursula looked about for some sign of how much longer it would go on for. When she turned to see who her new partner was she nearly knocked her deck off the table. In her surprise she failed to stop the look of wide-eyed horror on her face at the sight of him. Clearly she hadn't been imagining things earlier, why had she dismissed herself so readily? Finally she did school her expression into something more neutral but her eyes were betraying her.
"Good evening," she lowered her eyes to her cards, unable to continue looking him in the face. How was she supposed to play cards when all she could think about was that letter. How could she make smalltalk with him after all the time she'd spent feverish and fixating over how he'd received her letter. There was no way, she was lost for words, she couldn't even tear her eyes off of her hand for fear of what she'd find if she did. Death was preferable, for the love of Merlin why hadn't the fever taken her?!
