Idle fingers found the hem of her skirt, fondling the fine lace of the ruffle with an absent minded

Idle fingers found the hem of her skirt, fondling the fine lace of the ruffle with an absent minded curiosity. Her face was a mess of in betweens. Between confused and serene, anxious and calm. Furrowed brows, smiles, half lidded eyelids and attentive eyes.  Six months ago, this is not a skirt she would be own, let alone wear. Even a few weeks back and the idea would have been met with a mix of assumed humour and mild affront. And yet here she was, wearing it. More than that, she was comfortable wearing it. For the tenth time that hour, she happily cursed him and his charm. His persuasive words and even more persuasive actions.  At some point, dressing up for him had stopped being dressing up for him. It was now just how she dressed, and there was some small part of her mind that was protesting that, six months ago, she would regard the person who sat here in this ruffled, overly pink skirt with a mixture of contempt and pity. The the she of six months ago would consider the she of now to be quite loopy.  The irony being the she of six months ago was far from sane. She was incomplete, back then, vast gaps in her knowledge being filled with haughty ideas and feigned open mindedness that was really strident elitism. You were free to be who you wanted to be, just so long as you wanted to be what she thought was best. The she of six months ago was a bit of a dick, to be quite frank.  She didn’t hold it against herself, though. He’d had the patience, and the foresight to coax her away from that, bring her to herself and then shove her in this damnable skirt. She laughed. In the back of her mind, she fancied he’d made her laugh, despite his absence.  And she smiled at that. Smiled because he’d come along and been the man to see the blueprint of her, and figure out exactly what needed to be done to finish her off. And he had. Finished her off.  More than once, in fact.  -- source link

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