The port was not large, but it was important. It was a place for friendly ships to restock supplies, communicate and trade. The area had been known for its number of pirates – cut down in recent years. An important Governor had been appointed to oversee the island, and moved there with his daughter. His late wife had been stricken with a mysterious disease that slowly made her wither away a month before they were set to depart. A fearful heart, the doctors had declared.

The day was beautiful on the small island. The evening, even more so. Alice was dressed in a pale green evening gown, her black tresses tucked up into an elaborate wig. The dress flared out from her waist, and the corset held her rather tightly. Not too tightly, thankfully. She’d heard some stories about ladies fainting due to being unable to breathe. When she was feeling naughty, she thought about it being the tight embrace of a secret lover – perhaps the taut arms of their stable boy… Although, it was an embrace tight enough that she couldn’t yawn.

Their garden was decorated with delicate tables and chairs, waiters slipping in and out of crowds of older people. Alice was one of few young souls here, and had to content herself with making conversation with important people. It was boring. The older men seemed to talk more to her chest than her face, and the older women twittered on and on about how ‘X’ had married, ‘Y,’ and ‘What a mistake that was’…

Eventually extracting herself from the clouds of perfume and powdered wigs, she quietly slipped away while her father was distracted (he certainly would not approve!). Down the garden path she padded in her slippers, holding her skirts above the grass. The thought of loneliness in the half-light and eventual darkness did not even occur to her. After all, she was the governor’s daughter, and she was always looked after.

Alice took a seat on the small stone bench at the end of the path, sighing contentedly. This place had a wonderful view of the sea, and the air was far fresher than it had been at the party. Her father hosted these kinds of occasions sometimes. To be honest, she’d rather be somewhere else. Perhaps on a ship of the Empire, or side-saddle on a horse with a prince of a far-away land…

The wig was scratchy. Reaching up to her head, she fiddled before pulling it off her head. Black locks tumbled down her shoulders, and she gave her head a quick shake. It didn’t matter; she’d stay here for the rest of the night if she could anyway. Her lips were still painted red, and she dabbed at them with a finger to see if her lipstick was still there. It was, thankfully. It was one of few things that her father tolerated – at least it was ladylike.

@Sami