The beauty and simplest of it, is one the finest things of it being the most loved. Softness of the silk ran smoothly and airless against the milky skin, how the hues of the grass and rivers echo through it, as it shifted shades through the lights.
The wearer could only smile more, knowing it was hers to own, having her sunburn set hair crowned around her head, bonded by a pale yellow ribbon, a gift from a neighbor, as a sign of welcome, forming it close to the Queenâ€™s crown, for thatâ€™s how the dress made her feel.
Mind wandering, far from ripen slums that rested outside her smug window, as too it was what life really was, doesnâ€™t mean it should run her life, forever.
Nimble fingers, one lone finger weighed down from a promise that would never come, as it golden coat shined now and then into her eyes, but went on, patching the smallest holes, as the skilled master she had come to be in the waning years of life, filling it more of obtuse age. Paralleling to what the bear walls and floor of her small apartment was, spider crack mirror, wagered and brought from a pawn shop.
Little objects of her own, scattered here and there, but this place was hers, as was the dress, the one piece of gold of her past, healed and ready for her future. Even her little feline of partner couldnâ€™t a agree more, as the flush of fur, nudged against its master, purring softly when the silk rippled across its nose, in a form of understanding.
Oh, if her family was still around, they would be thrilled to know how far she had gotten, staying true to her roots, making something of herself, even if it was small, such as a dress made and patched by her hands. But it was hers alone.
And she was going to make something of it. Even in the depths of the slums of the city, she now called home, but never a place for her heart.
The Green Dress by John White Alexander
Made in between the years of 1890-1899
Location when painted; Varies through areas in Paris