Post by cecelia foster on Aug 3, 2011 1:12:52 GMT -5
Cecelia Jane Foster
[/b][/color][/size] A Miss Cecelia Jane Foster at the dear age of twenty-three has found herself upon the most curious of situations - entering into London's most tantalizing gossip. "[/i][/color][/font][/size][/ul][/blockquote]
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W R I T E R .
name: Reba
RP experience: Five Years
how did you find us?: The Elite Historical RPG's Directory
age: 20
gender: Female
P O R T R A I T .
eye color: Blue
hair color: Dark Brown
height: 5'3"
body type: Petite
distinguishing features: None
fashion style:
M A N N E R S .
profession: Seamstress/tailor
adoration for:
distaste for:
dreams:
fears:
secrets:
main:
P A S T .
family:
main:
E T C .
play-by: Vivien Leigh
password: evening solace
rp sample:
It was a rather late night, and Cecelia's eyes were straining under the candlelight as she worked on the hem of a woman's dress that needed shortening. Papa was upstairs, and she didn't want to disturb him, so she kept the lights low, even though it made working a tad difficult.
The hours ticked by as her task grew more monotonous. While her and her father normally would have worked together after supper (and at least she'd have some company), her father was having another one of his coughing fits, and had suggested he go to bed early. While she certainly didn't mind helping Papa not fall behind in his work, the task was much more boring with nothing but the sound of the clock ticking to keep her company.
The fading of the candlelight was her signal to stop working for the night. Thankfully, the light went out right as she was about to finish. She knotted the thread, laid her work out as neatly in the dark as she could in the parlor, and felt her way up the steps, carrying the small candleholder with her. She stepped cautiously, being very careful not to wake Papa up.
As she changed into her nightgown, she eyed a certain floorboard under her bed; the one she kept the volumes in which her stories were written. She sighed. "Guess you won't be writing tonight, Cece...perhaps tomorrow.", she thought. She got down on her knees, eyeing the night stars out her window.
"Dear lord, please see that father recovers from his coughing. He works so hard. Please help him to be strong....and please help me to be strong. Please...let something...ANYTHING happen to me. I need something more than stitching day in and day out. Please help me change things for the better. I know they can be better. Will you help me? In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost, amen." she whispered, making the sign of the cross over her chest. She got up and got under the covers, dreaming of all the wonderful and interesting places she could be instead of her father's shop, some of which only existed in her head or in the volumes she kept under the floorboards.[/blockquote][/size]
