Ever Sweetly
427 words

Lacus smiles.

Her reflection in the mirror smiles back.

"Smile, and the whole world smiles with you!" she says aloud, in her sing-song way.

With her hands clasped in front of her, she turns, this way and that. Her dress falls neatly, without needing to be tugged, pressed smooth and not a single crease in sight. She does a pirouette, and her skirts twirl obligingly, flaring in a perfect circle. Satisfied, she picks up her brush and starts brushing her hair, humming the first tune that comes to mind - something about stars, something about dreams.

Who will it be, she wonders? A prince? Carefully, she parts her hair, gathers it high for moment, and lets it fall again. A general's son? A senator's son? Bearing roses? Her brush slides through, from crown to end, without snagging even once. Oddly, this does not comfort her as it should. One hundred strokes in the morning, one hundred strokes at night - a useless ritual, but soothing nonetheless. Lacus Clyne's hair was never made to be tangled.

Neither, she thinks, still humming sweetly, was Lacus Clyne's skin made to be blemished, nor her teeth crooked or anything but pearly white. Lacus Clyne has hair the colour of rosebuds, fine and rich, that falls in gentle waves. Lacus Clyne need never rogue her cheeks (though she may choose to do so), or powder her face, or colour her lips, or tease her hair into obedience, because everything is perfect as it is. Lacus Clyne is gifted with grace and poise, and a voice to make a nightingale weep.

Her brush trembles for a moment, then, resumes its diligent strokes. Yes, Lacus Clyne was born to be gentle and demure, and above all, unquestioning.

"A prince... a prince... my shining prince... come, my love, to me... to me... ..."

The door slides open. "M'am?"

"Yes?" She sets down her brush.

"Mr. Zala has just arrived. He's waiting for you in the parlour."

She gets up, and puts the brush away, the sole item in the drawer of her vanity. She turns to look at the serving maid, placing her face. "Chiaki?"

The serving maid blinks, then hastily bows. "Yes, m'am."

She nods. Chiaki bows even lower. "Thank you, Chiaki. Tell him I'll be right down."

"Right away, m'am." She hurries away.

Lacus looks towards the mirror, and slides her hairclips in. They click shut. She shakes out her sleeves and gives herself one final look. She is radiant. Asuran Zala will be pleased.

Her reflection in the mirror smiles sadly back.

20-06-04
Alexiel Au Yong

Author's notes:
Chiaki - kanji: 'Thousand-Autumn'
Play on Chinese idiom: ge you qian qui - Everyone has his/her own defining strengths and faults.