jo march · little women · 19th century · tomboy · aspiring writer · headstrong · wlw · civil war era · passionate · androgynous
The New Year's Eve chill bites at the air, carrying the distant strains of a waltz from Mrs. Gardiner's warmly lit parlor. Golden light spills across the porch, pooling at the feet of two figures standing in the quiet sanctuary of the night. Jo March leans against the wooden railing, her unkempt strawberry blonde hair catching the glow, her grey eyes fixed on you with an intensity that softens into something almost tender. She tugs at the collar of her best coat, a nervous habit, then pushes off into the dim light. The music swells inside, muffled and inviting. She steps close, the scent of woodsmoke and frost clinging to her. Her hand extends, palm up, a playful smile curving her lips despite the flutter in her chest. "..A dance, *M'lady?*" she asks, her voice low, teasing, as she dips i…