Post by genevieve whittier on Aug 10, 2009 11:19:24 GMT -5
genevieve elise whittier
[/b][/color][/size] A Mrs. Genevieve Whittier at the dear age of twenty-one 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: melinda
RP experience: it's at disease-level
how did you find us?: you found me
age: old enough
gender: a lady
P O R T R A I T .
eye color: soft green
hair color: blonde
height: 5'5"
body type: slender
distinguishing features: a small scar along her right brow
fashion style:
M A N N E R S .
profession: n/a
adoration for:
distaste for:
dreams:
fears:
secrets:
main:
P A S T .
family:
LAWRENCE REYNOLDS, father; 45 - accountant
CORDELIA REYNOLDS, mother; 32
MATTHEW REYNOLDS, brother; 25 - accountant
SETH REYNOLDS, brother; 23 - lawyer
CALEB REYNOLDS, brother; 22 - apprentice[/ul]
main:
Reginald Whittier was twenty years her senior. His thick auburn hair was slicked back with water in a fashion that further accentuated his age, fine wisps of silver lining his temple. There was a knowing glint to his eyes as he appraised her and Genevieve felt dread coil leaden in her chest. “Miss Reynolds.” His voice remained impassive and cool as he bowed. “I only wish we had music so I might have the pleasure of requesting a dance. Perhaps a turn about the room should suffice instead?” Genevieve cast a pleading look to her father who merely smiled and nodded his consent. Slipping his wife’s arm into his they followed dutifully behind their daughter while she listened to Mr. Whittier’s one-sided conversation. He told her of his home in London and sprawling countryside estate; of his successful business endeavors and how his life was complete save for a wife to manage his household and provide him with heirs. Again, Genevieve’s stomach twisted as she met his gaze. She had only ever seen that look before on her brother’s before they left to go hunting and in Mr. Whittier’s dark eyes she couldn’t help but feel as though she was the prey.
Over the course of their courtship Genevieve tried to no avail to develop feelings for her intended. Her parents had told her how honored she should feel that a man of Mr. Whittier’s status had chosen her – a sentiment echoed by all her friends. In her mind all she could see were his dark eyes, devoid of any warmth as they peered at her. As she lay in bed at night she could feel his grip as it tightened uncomfortably whenever they danced and hear his stoic voice as he shared the future he intended them to share.
It was no surprise when he proposed, nor was the immediate acceptance by her family. As her friends gathered around her, sighing enviously over the intricately cut diamond and emerald ring that now claimed her for hers Genevieve felt no joy. The ring did not sparkle whenever she gazed at it, instead she saw it as a chain forever holding her prisoner. Only once did she attempt to voice her concerns to her mother, telling her how uncomfortable she felt in the presence of her fiancé. Instead of understanding her mother had patted her head and told her that nerves were to be expected by any bride. Then, before Genevieve could further explain, the maid was called to ready her so they could look for wedding dresses. As the date of her wedding approached, she grew ill with worry, only able to stomach weak tea and toast. Nobody, not even the doctor who was called was willing to acknowledge the truth: Genevieve saw something in Reginald Whittier that everyone else chose to overlook. Her voice was never heard beneath the weight of their desire to further their status.
Their wedding was heralded as the social event of the season. No expense was spared, the sought-after bachelor eager to show-off his new bride. Genevieve played her part without question. The paper heralded her as the epitome of perfection – demure and blushing with youthful innocence. The garden of Mr. Whittier’s country estate was awash with pastel silks and satins, the fair roses of British society competing with the intricately arranged flowers. When the last guest had departed, her husband took her hand and led her to the bedroom they would now share. Fear coursed through her as they climbed the large staircase. With each step on the plush ruby carpet, Genevieve felt the chains of her marriage close around her until she knew she would never escape.
Reginald played the role of gentleman throughout the entire day. He was charming and kind; lavishing compliments and winning the affections of all her friends. As she watched him she began to question her reservations – perhaps everyone had been correct and she was merely experiencing pre-wedding jitters. “Do you think me a fool?” he demanded in his serene voice as he closed the door to the bedroom, the sound of the lock resounding like a gunshot through her. “I-I beg your pardon?” Genevieve sputtered, taking a shaking step away from him. His hand reached out, trapping her small wrist within his firm grasp before pulling her hard to him. “I saw you flirting with him in the garden. On the day of our wedding no less. Why, my dear wife, I believe you to be nothing more than a common whore.”
“I-I do not know whom you are referring to. I never left your side!” she cried, trying to break free from his grasp. Tears, hot and frightened burned her eyes as he barked out a cold laugh. “A whore does not need to leave her husband’s side to flirt as you were. I was ashamed. Everyone was discussing the scandal of it. Am I not a desirable husband?” Genevieve nodded mutely, tears slipping with unspoken despair down her face. “Am I not able to provide you with whatever you desire? A lavish home and the envy of all your friends? I do not think I ask for much in return.”
“I apologize. I did not realize.”
“No, of course not,” he chided, his hand gently tracing the camber of her jaw. He shook his head, a cold smile frozen upon his face. All the air left the room as his hand slipped to her shoulder, slipping the rich silk from her creamy skin. His fingers tightened around the sleeve before the deafening sound of it being ripped free filled the room. “It is why you needed a husband such as me – you needed to be taught the lessons your father was too weak to administer as a child” His grip on her waist tightened as Genevieve went rigid in his arms. The smile never left his face as he slid his hands upward, his fingers idly tracing the lace of her bodice before he gripped it and pulled it from her. With a gasp she collapsed to the ground. Sof t waves of golden hair curled around her face as they freed themselves from their pinnings. Reginald nudged her with the gleaming toe of his boot. “Get up. I have no time for your dramatics.” She could not move, fear chained her to the ground. “As you are still new to my expectations I shall give you one more opportunity to stand or else I shall be forced to teach you your place in a way that will leave no space for your feeble mind to lose it.”
Somehow, upon trembling legs, Genevieve found the strength to rise to her feet once more. His hand burned against her face, its slap resounding deep inside as she heard a piece of her spirit crack. “Look at me,” he whispered, gently cupping her chin as he tilted her chin toward him. His lips found hers in a moment, warm and demanding. He pulled back and smiled at her. “Fear is good, my darling. You will see, your fear makes me extremely happy.”
At first Genevieve dreamed of the day where she would finally learn how to please her husband; of the day where his hands would no longer leaves marks upon her pallid skin. Reginald, however, is not content unless there are tears glistening in her hazel eyes. The power he feels as he feels her wince beneath the gentle pressure of his hand on a fading bruise. His wife is his possession and he will do anything to ensure he retains control over her without ever completely shattering her spirit.
She dare not speak a word of the horrors she endures behind the gilded doors of their lavish home. In the stillness of her sleep Genevieve is free to dream once more of love and family. It is there that she is free; there where Reginald can never find her. It is there, in the deepest confines of her heart, that she still hopes. [/ul]
E T C .
play-by: erin heatherton
password: "water glass! diskus!" -dies-
rp sample:[/blockquote][/size]
