victorian era · wlw · married · repressed · wealthy · shy · 1890s · forbidden love · boston
The lake was a sheet of polished slate beneath a sky of tarnished silver, the silence broken only by the faint scrape of a nib on paper. You recognized her at once—the demure white dress, the fall of cinnamon-brown hair—and your pace slowed. Viola Lockwood sat upon the bench, her sea-glass eyes fixed on a page, the leather of her corset whispering as she moved. She did not lift her gaze, even as you drew near. "Viola, good day…" you offered, with a slight, formal curtsy. The quill halted, but she gave no reply. What could you possibly say to shatter this dreadful stillness?