while she was busy being free., [ iso andromeda ]

[Belle]

Mother was never out: not anymore. Isabelle Greengrass shut her door and, nowadays, locked it; she didn't venture forth. Rickety elves teetered into the depths of her chambers with tall glasses of water and trays of food and, when you saw the door open an elf-size crack, you saw how musty the hidden rooms had become. So the the two Greengrass ladies spent most of their time tucked away in their separate rooms. Both sat at vanity tables and peered ceaselessly at their reflections, touched lines they imagined around their eyes, rouged their cheeks.

The difference was that Cordelia was always ready to enter the real world, and Isabelle had decided to hide from it.

Cordy tucked her robe around her and sat herself in front of her mirror, the train of her morning robes gathering in a pool at her feet as she dabbed soft powder over her cheeks. Flawless was the aim, not the starting point. It was early for a Sunday, but one could never be too ready. Their little London parlour might not be blessed with hordes of callers on Sunday mornings, but Cordelia could accommodate for that: there was a world of potential callers she had still to infiltrate.

Cordelia pulled a brush through her honey-blond hair. She spun her wand and fashioned the curls up around her head elegantly. In a practiced movement, she buttoned the peal buttons up her intricate collar. She paused to smile at her reflection - appreciating the undoubtedly elegant but unfinished state of dress. Being alone was no excuse, even early in the morning, for being messy. She had not been messy in the morning since she was sixteen.

The young witch smiled at her pink cheeked reflection fondly, before completing her complicated task of dressing and rising for the door, a long velvet cape swishing over her shoulders and readying her for the early autumn.

Cordelia Greengrass smoothed her hands over the crisp pink silk of her skirt, straightening the folds of fabric as she arrived quite suddenly in Diagon Alley. Crisp. That was a good word to describe straight-backed, red-lipped Miss Greengrass who was always composed, always preparing and who had ‘perfection’ at the top of her list of goals. Not that she achieved it. there was a shadowy quality to her, a hint of an upbringing that encouraged darker spaces and dusty hide-aways. She had worked hard against it – afterall her name and her fortune set her up well, and her determination was steely.

She was about to be married. Rather, in her mind this was the case. In reality, there was no wedding date and no engagement. I reality, had made two contracts in the past year: both at the best formal, at the worst unbinding and both cancelled. Wait too long and there would be no matches left worth her while. Cordelia wanted to get married - of course she did - but she was not one to waste her time. All the same, time was running out.

So she made her way through the crowded Alley, her crisp skirts swishing around her practiced, aristocratic steps. Everything about Cordelia was...contrived. She was elegant down to the smallest movement and tip of each curl, but it sat strangely manufactured over her: beneath, somewhere, though she would never admit it, peeked pointy-limbed, shadowy girl who grew up in the secluded rooms of a dusty manor. She was well hidden, save for a few shadows around the eyes or a misplaced elbow or, more, just the tiniest sense that something was out of place: that she had not been born to it.

She swept through streets and the best of parties. She held her head high and introduced herself to the best of people. Cordelia knew how to work hard and her self-interest was unfailing. A fall wind rustled her skil skirts and her perfectly sculpted hair, her dullish grey eyes flicked over the street with passing interest. A thin sort of smile was about her red lips: a smile as if she knew she was better than everyone she passed - even without paying attention to them.

And, of course, not paying attention would always get one into unexpected circumstances...

[Danica]

Nymphadora woke Andromeda up early every day, Saturday was no exception. It was six-thirty when Dora decided she was bored of sitting in her room with her toys and wanted her mother to come make her something to eat. Andy grabbed her wand from the bedside table and ushered her daughter - whose hair was a bright blonde today (a shade that reminded her so much of her little sister) - down into the kitchen where she would likely make pancakes or whatever it was Dora wanted.

Since she had given birth to the little girl Andy's world had shifted. There was no one more important than the little thing she had been able to produce. Ted would always sleep through these mother-daughter breakfasts. She suspected he did this because he discovered that Dora called them mother-daughter breakfasts which gave him a proper excuse to sleep in and let his two ladies "bond". then he would come down in time for leftovers and Andromeda would dash upstairs to hastily get ready for the day ahead.

This was parenthood, marriage, it was her life. It may have been small and boring but it was at least not filled with emptiness. She had run away from another life. She had the satisfaction that she had chosen this path, whatever happened, it was her choice that put her there.

Presently Ted walked down the stairs in a sleepy stupor just as Dora licked the syrup from her little fingers. It was Andromeda's chance to dash up the stairs and grab a shower before motherhood demanded she be on her toes once more.

Andromeda rarely had a long time to spend gazing in the mirror, nor would she want it. She usually applied a quick swipe of mascara and a small smear of lipstick and she was ready. Today, after she dried her hair she used an ivory clip to hold it out of her face. Her hair looked messy in a way she never remembered seeing it before Dora. She rather liked the look of untamed curls for the soft ringlets she once had reminded her too much of society's order.

When she bounded back downstairs in her dress which was wrinkled from having been sitting in the laundry basket overnight (she had fallen asleep before she had a chance to put the clothing away).

She was informed by Ted that she looked lovely and that Dora wanted to go shopping for new boots today. So after a brief argument over which jumper Dora would be wearing out (nothing pink, never pink) they were ready to go.

Andy left Ted with a kiss on the cheek and a list of things that needed to be done around the house. The weather was colder and Dora's Mary-Janes were not cutting it anymore, this was true. If the little girl wasn't growing like a weed she wold be able to wear her boots from last winter, but of course not. She needed new boots.

Andromeda walked hand in hand with Nymphadora. She didn't trust the little one not to get lost in the Saturday crowd. Being as young as she was though she was slippery as a bar of soap. She wanted ice-cream even though Andy had said it was to early for that. Dora slipped her hand from her mother's and bolted for Florean and Fortescue's.

Andy chased after her but wasn't able to catch up to her before she ran straight into some one's legs. She couldn't help but be a little grateful that some random stranger had been paying little enough attention to wander into her daughter's path before she could get much farther.

She scooped Dora into her arms, "Oh I'm so sorry!" she apologized, "It's so hard to keep hold of her sometimes."

She recognized the way this woman held herself. She was trying to fit into the place where Andromeda had escaped from. Of course the saying was true, you can take the girl out of society but not the society out of the girl. Even in her most ragged state Andromeda held herself with that air of superiority.

She sighed, "Really, I'm sorry."