The woman that stood in front of the large mirrors looked out of place, dressed in snug black trousers fashioned for the hard working women of Connlaoth, a light blue blouse fitted her from beautifully, and a navy bodice that made sure her curves were just right. Not that she cared about that part. Well maybe just a little. What girl didn't like to look good?
"Not that one, the other one, the one without any embroidery. Yes, yes, that'll work. Hurry."
Holly was impatient, it wasn't the servant's fault though, and she did her best not to get snippy with the woman. Especially considering they had been helping her sneak out of the house for years so she could actually live a little. Shrugging into the plain, but well-made navy half jacket, her ensemble was complete. It really wasn't a great disguise, but it was better than nothing. The clothes were finely made, but out of wool, not anything particularly expensive, and they had been stripped of all embroidery and ornamentation.
Her red-gold hair was tied back in a long braid with a dark blue ribbon woven into the fine tresses, and tied in a small bow near the bottom. Giving herself a once over in the tall standing mirror in the corner of her room, she sighed softly in dissatisfaction. She still didn't look like a particularly poor person, while the clothes were simple; they were obviously not greatly worn-in or worn-out. At least she didn't look like a rich merchant's daughter. More like a modestly successful craftswoman. It would have to do.
Throwing her satchel over her shoulder, she threw open her bedroom window and climbed out. This window actually faced the next building, which made for a horrid view, but was spectacular for sneaking out of, as she could use the stone surface to climb down into the alley between buildings and waltz right onto the street without getting any suspicious looks. Usually.
It was just after noon when she found a bench in the park, curling her legs underneath her; Holly pulled her leather-bound sketchbook and charcoal pencils from her satchel and began drawing. There were pages and pages filled with all sorts of things. Birds, cats, dogs, statues, buildings, landscapes – whatever she saw that interested her, was brought to life on the paper beneath her fingers. First she drew a shop that she saw, then an old woman selling flowers. They were good drawings, but not quite what she wanted.
Deep blue eyes settled on him as they scanned the park for a new target. He was so tall, and the expression on his face and in his eyes. At such a distance it was hard to truly take in and appreciate every complex nuisance of his posture and countenance, but she knew immediately that she needed to draw him. The next couple hours Holly engrossed herself in capturing the essence of the lonely figure sitting in the grass. Her fingers became smudged with charcoal, but she hardly noticed as she slowly formed a clear image of him in black and white, staring from the grass into the sunset.
She wondered what he was thinking about. His thoughts looked so deep, complex, but he seemed to be enjoying himself, even if he was just sitting there in the park. Rarely did the young woman ever approach her subjects, but this time Holly felt compelled to. After all, he made such an interesting and attractive subject.
Standing and stretching she gathered up her things and shoved them back into her bag, except the book, which she left out and open to the drawing of the mystery man. Approaching him she became a little nervous. What if he got angry that she'd drawn him? It wasn't as if she'd asked permission first. Then again, it was just a drawing, nothing to get upset over. Coming to stand next to him, she smiled sheepishly and offered him the book with his drawing.
"Good evening, Sir. I've been staring at you for about two hours and I thought maybe you deserved to see this." The drawing of him wasn't just one of her sketches; the detail and shading put into it were precise, bordering on the compulsively perfect.
