Havisham
Legacy Name: Dickensian

Once upon a time -for all stories begin that way, do they not- lived a girl most fortunate; in birth, in status, in beauty and all the things that mattered, or so she thought.

Her father, with no wifely helpmate to guide him, raised his only child to want for nothing, away from the cruel world, shuttered up in a gilded mansion. His only desire was to keep her safe and happy, and to do this he gave her everything and anything she wanted, so long as she stayed home, believing that this was the secret to happiness. The world outside held cruelties, horrors and disappointments unimaginable, and he intended to keep his daughter safe. If she grew to be slightly spoiled and somewhat petulant, this he could overlook, as fathers are often wont to do. She, in turn, learned what it was like not to want for anything, that nothing was out of her reach, and anything she wanted she was certain to have, no matter the cost. On only one matter was her father implacable, and that was that she should stay indoors. So naturally, as it happens when you deny a person nothing but one single thing, the girl was determined to have that which she was denied.

The girl spent many hours wailing and pleading with her father to be set free, but he would not budge. She attempted to use every possible trick in her bag of charms, begging, pleading, threatening, charming, crying, all to no avail. Every effort she made wearied her father to the bones, but he would not be swayed. Many an afternoon the servants of the house could her her tiny slippered feet stamping down the stairs to the large bay window at the front of the house, where she would heave and sigh all afternoon after a row with her father, staring gloomily out the window

Her father's stance on this matter stayed ironclad, even after he began to slip into older age. The girl grew taller and stronger, her life and looks blossoming daily, in direct opposition of her father's failing mental and physical health. She longed to join the bustling streets she spent her life peering at through the curtains, certain that the world outside should be as easily conquerable as the world inside her large home.

By the time the girl blossomed into a woman, her father's ailing health finally got the best of him, and he slipped into the next world. A flock of distant relatives the girl barely knew descended upon her, pecking and postulating about her future. Many offered to take her in, and why not, she was a poor, defenseless shut-in, who also just so happened to be a very wealthy heiress. The girl smiled a perfected, sad, half-smile and shook her head, demurely denying all inquiries and supplications. Many a cousin, aunt and great-uncle tried to reason with the girl, explaining to her about the cruelty of the world, and the men who lived in it, but she would not listen.

After they finally left her, the house haunted the girl with its silence. She wanted life and loudness and society, and so she began her quest to conquer the world. A beautiful young single lady with money and charm will be welcome in any society, and the girl found herself included in the best circles immediately. She began attending on the highest households daily, shopping and taking air with debutantes and other heiresses during the day, dancing and dining with the sons of the aristocracy at night.

Many men, attracted to both her wealth and beauty, wooed the girl. While flattered by every letter, gift and declaration, she held them all at bay with shy smiles and demure denials. For even though she was naive and sheltered, the girl knew her worth and would only deign to marry someone she saw as her equal. Whether in looks, wealth or status, every man of her acquaintance was found wanting.

Until Compeyson. He was handsome, articulate, charming, suave, and tall. On the evening of their introduction he had the gall to dance with one of her (less attractive) acquaintance twice and herself only once! That was all it took for the girl to want him more than any other man. No one had ever dared to favor another over her. Their courtship was passionate, brief, and the talk of the town. Many of the girls (petty, jealous) acquaintance tried to warn her about the man but she would hear no words against him. Who would dare question her judgement, when she was by far the richest, most attractive girl in the city.

The day she was to be married dawned bright and crisp. The girl woke with the sun, stretching her toes towards the end of her feather bed and burrowing deep within her pillows. She felt, for the first time in her life, what it was like to be truly happy. Love had finally found her, (though her trials were many) she was getting everything she knew she deserved, and she would accept no less. Nothing could possibly ruin this day, what was to be the culmination of her whole life's work. She would be rich, beautiful, and married to a man who loved her almost as much as she loved herself.

While she lay a-bed, ruminating on all her life's accomplishments, her maids entered the room. The girl squeezed her eyes closed once, savoring the delicious sensations coursing through her, and then swung her feet off the high bed, ready to prepare herself for battle. The girl kept a close eye on the clock, and an even closer eye on all the preparations going on around her. The guests would arrive promptly at 9, for a service to begin at half-past, and it wouldn't do to have anything left unprepared. She allowed her maids to dress her with the utmost care, pining back her long hair, tugging and pulling at her corset strings, smoothing layers of silk and satin around her hips, slowly unrolling stockings up to her thighs. Every detail was cataloged and checked off an imaginary to-do list in the girls mind.

At exactly half-past eight the girl allowed her maid to put the finishing touches on her look. She could hear the sounds of her servants scuttling around downstairs, cutlery clattering, feather dusters attacking invisible dust motes on mantels, ties being straightening and skirts being ironed into submission with the flat backs of hands. There was a knock on the front door, and the girl's brow creased. Someone had the audacity to show up (here she glanced at the clock) 22 minutes early? She allowed herself sixty seconds to pout, and then continued on with her primping. All that was left was for her to slip on her last jeweled slipper when a knock sounded on her bedroom door.

"Please miss," a shy maid whispered through the thick door, "there's been a letter. Please come quick." The girl heaved a somewhat annoyed sigh and, gathering up the folds of her dress, quit the room. The girl walked slowly down the hall, the stairs, and towards the sitting room. She basked in the feeling of all the maids and servants who made not too subtle glances in her direction. Let them look, she sniffed to herself, they should be proud to see their mistress achieve everything that they never will.

The receiving parlor was empty when the girl reached it, and for a brief second she felt uneasy and alone. A shiver ran up her spine as she thought of her father, and what he would think about all that was happening. She shook her head to clear the ghosts from her memory. Then the girl remembered her name, her status, and her future husband and dismissed whatever sense of foreboding she might have felt. She took a deep breath, then another, and touched her hair, her nose her lips, her throat and her chest, her eyes following the route of her hands as they traveled over her body, making sure everything was still in its place. Her gaze came to rest at her feet, and as she wiggled the toes of her left foot, planted innocently beside her shod right, she let out a laugh, though the sound was high pitched and slightly crazed. She felt her head grow light and her vision dim slightly, so she sat, abruptly in the armchair by the fire. Sitting on the table on a silver platter was the letter.

The girl glanced at the clock, noting the time and taking a calming breath reassured herself that nothing bad could happen. "It is twenty until eight, and my wedding day. I have ample time to take care of whatever trifling matter is in this letter. It is my wedding day, nothing could possibly go wrong. I am to be married today, to a man who loves me more than life itself, what could possibly go wrong? I am a Havisham, the world is my oyster, what could possibly be wrong?"

With trembling fingers the girl reached for the letter on the gilded silver platter.

Overlay by: BlueAsteria

Pet Profile by: Paula

Black-and-White images by: VinnyCrow

Shoe Custom Item here by: User not found: viticus

Clock Custom Item here by: User not found: shur

Furniture shadows: link

Mirrors: link

Character: based on Miss Havisham from the novel Great

Expectations by Charles Dickens

special thank you to Hope and Masquerade and the PSSupport crew for all their help