Chapter Text
Grace is one of several gifts Sylaise presents to June. To help fill the areas where she finds her husband’s people lacking. Just as he gifts some of his craftsmen to her in return. The pleasure workers, tailors, artists and artisans of both interior and exterior (whose skills rest more on arranging than building), for all these June has a clear use. And appreciation. The musicians, too, still find they serve a purpose in June’s lands. Their entertainment is not intrusive. Even if they are not lauded as highly here, June and his people appreciate their craft. Appreciate that they do not have to actually pause creating in order to listen. Whereas they must stop for Grace and pay attention solely to her. That is her function. Sylaise made Grace to command attention and she does not have any other skills, other purposes. Grace is purely ornamental. She is frivolous. Useless. But something Sylaise feels June needs to have on hand, anyway, for Sylaise’s own entertainment when she visits.
And June does seem appreciative of having something else to show off at important events, even if he’d rather the attention go to his works than a frivolity. A trinket.
It is a relief, in a way. To be largely ignored. But it is also very boring.
At first, Grace stays in the space allotted to her and practices her craft. She had forgotten how peaceful it could be, to simply move. Sylaise had her body crafted quiet carefully. Had only chosen Grace after great deliberation. Impressed upon her the honor of the choice and the body she was gifted. But Grace has not been free to simply enjoy it for some time. To pour all her skill and emotion into the dance and not fear whose attention she was attracting in the crowd. Or that one of the harsher instructors would find some fault. But then anxiety starts to set in. Because she has no instructor to find fault, to correct before accident can become habit and her purpose becomes flawed. Worthless in all respects.
Dancing stops being peaceful.
Fret and Worry settle into the corners of the space Grace was given and no matter how Grace arranges and rearranges her furniture in both her living area and practice space, she can not get the little spirits to leave. And there is still boredom, more hours to the day than she can practice or organize her handful of possessions or try to shoo pesky little spirits away. This is not safe, is not healthy.
Grace knows there is more to this city than her rooms and lack of duties. Here, in June’s lands, there have been few performances and only mild interest. It should be safe to go, explore. Sylaise made Grace to be appreciated, to be coveted. There were protections, of course (Sylaise was not cruel, quite the opposite, in fact. In comparison.). But never enough. There were loopholes, unwritten ways to make refusals too costly.
Grace is almost eager to explore (eager for something other than day after unchanging day). But Poise, Elegance, Agility, Posture, and Refinement are not here. And Grace does not know how to dress.
She knows how she should appear, eye catching and a shining tribute to her enanuvis. But then she will draw attention and she will be alone. And... June does not seem to care. She has noticed that he allows his people more leeway with how they garb themselves. Only practical, Grace supposes, to allow things that can handle plaster or paint or soot or blood. As long as she does not do so when it matters, Grace suspects she could even wear something drab. If she wanted.
That feels wrong and Grace does not quiet like the though of drab either.
She does not know what to do and that draws Fret and Worry to her.
Worry starts sorting through her hangers and Grace can not muster the energy to try and stop the spirit. Besides, it is careful. It sets out the leggings Grace uses for practice, that she can move in. A light top with bare arms. But also a fluttery overcoat that will shield her figure even as it flows and swirls pleasingly. A belt to keep it out of the way. Heavy boots. Grace’s hair is short, to allow for elaborate headdresses, and Fret brings her little hoops for her ears that she can fiddle with, but no other jewels or bangles.
“Thank you,” Grace says. She had not realized. That she had friends. Tears well in her eyes. She will not try to make them leave again, she thinks.
She picks up her shirt and it crumples as she balls it in her hands without meaning to. “Thank you.”