February 5, 2006 at 6:44 pm #1624Jeff CrowleyParticipant
Name: Egeria Adelaide Fellows
Age and/or birth date: 28, March 15th, 1843
Eye Color: Pale blue, murky
Hair: Deep brown, long
Height/weight: 5’5/ 135
Equipment/weapons: A small dagger, occasionally other tools of the trade such as scissors or needles, a deck of tarot, and a sodalite pendulum.
Appearance (clothes, etc.,.): Colors are lost to her, and wealth is a fleeting thing. When she is working at the shoppe, her garments consist of a simple maroon woolen dress, or lengthy skirts of the same drab fabric of gray or dulled blue. When making her rounds after hours, she favors the more vibrant colors of burgundy, saffron, scarlet or violet. On any given night, Egeria may not be so certain what color she has donned until someone makes comment on her dressing gowns, for better or worse. Her trick lies in keeping the woolen work clothes in a separate wardrobe than her finer garments. Though pence being as scarce as they are, a greater part of her finer garments were either left and forgotten by previous customers, or fashioned by her own hands with shoppe scraps.
There are, however, two essential accessories that the woman cannot afford not part with. Her tinted spectacles and her walking cane. The purpose for one is to hide unsettling blue eyes, and the purpose of the other is to help her “see” where she is going.
Background: For many, the coming of a new life to any given flat within the White Chapel district more oft than naught meant one of two things: an abortion failed or an undertaker would soon come to call to fit the distended body of a young woman into a wooden coffin – with or without her newborn. On the frigid night of March 15th, 1843, Egeria? Adelaide Fellows, was no acceptation to either of these truths. When it was clear that Marion Fellows would not survive the night or the infant, her husband, Edward had prayed to the Almighty that the child may go with her. He would curse the midwife to his grave for having let the child live in the stead of his wife.
The child was cursed as well, it would seem, and well before her father’s cry to the almighty. Her blue eyes were regarded as beautiful by those that came to call and pay their last respects to her mother, but they would not know until well after her first year that pretty eyes were useless ones. Egeria was born without sight. “It is lamentable,” her fish merchant father would say to a would be suitor in her later years, “that she could not even see what ruin she has laid upon my home.” But she did. She had since the first years from birth. She saw these things in shapes she could not describe, and colors that she did not know by name. They were pictures in her head, and whispers in her ear placed there by those that could not be seen without the sight that she had. Prophecy, mediumship. Some might have claimed that she had made a pact with the dead.? Others, however, might have thought it to be a father’s poor choice in child rearing to leave her in the weather worn grave yard hidden behind St. Christopher’s from when the mackerel nets were cast in the morn to when they were drawn back from the sea just after dusk. But it was a place, Edward figured, where she could not be hurt, or heard, if she was.
Tired of her sudden wandering away, her father sent her off? from St. Christopher’s yard and into the streets. Off and away on her own to find whatever calling or gutter may catch her. Too blind to be a thief, to unsettling (when in her silence) to be a whore, she spent a greater part of her teen years begging. A bit of cord, a few pence, a tea biscuit – anything that could fit into her cupped hands. On one occasion, she was given a tether of string. Utterly useless for nourishment, but perfect to busy the hands while waiting to pass from this life into the next. So there she sat, on the stoop of one Lilian Renault, weaving a scarf with her thin fingers.
Ms. Renault watched the young girl, each morning for a time, when watering the flowers hung from her balcony. She watched her stare off into sights unseen while fingers moved intently and without pause. Three days passed, and the girl remained; weaving, watching, and speaking nothing to those that passed as if perfectly resigned to the slow death of starvation or until she ran out of string. By the end of this day, Egeria was offered a mentorship at Renaut’s dress making and alteration shoppe.
As the years passed, the girl grew no less curious. With as difficult time as she had with identifying the color of any particular garment, she always found the tear. Always knew the seam. Her repairs were flawless and her designs immaculate. Which was something to say for a girl who could not leave a room without knocking some object or another over with her cane.
A few more years passed and Widow Renault’s ugly little duckling grew into a peculiar little bird. On occasion she would be caught speaking to thinks that were not there, or seeing a color in a dress for the first time when she had been working on the same garment for weeks at a time. The time that past only brought stranger happenings. Just a touch on cloth would reveal the wearer’s fate from time to time. It was bad for business when it was difficult secure a noble’s summer wardrobe for seasonal repairs when she was told by Ms. Fellows that she would be dead by the spring. Or, to work on a man’s riding coat and complain of all the stains of blood that had sullied the fabric when Widow Renault could not see for herself – the customer turning as white as the ghost of whatever mistress he saw and dispatched of while wearing that same coat.
There were other matters about Egeria. What once was the widow’s mothering soon turned to suspicion when the young woman left at the close of the shoppe, only to return by its open. The scent of opium and rinds clung to her hair. A deck of cards and purse of coins hung from her hip. Each time when she was asked what she had done or where she had gone, she would smile to the widow, distant and sweet and reply, “What we have done and where we have been is nothing compared to where we will go. They know what they have done, they know where they have been. Their interest lies in the greater unknown, and for just a small fragment of their fleeting lives, that interest belongs to me.”February 5, 2006 at 7:59 pm #2189ArrolinParticipant
Nice stuff there! Looking forward to more insights into the blind seamstress. 😈February 5, 2006 at 9:39 pm #2190CatherineParticipant
Burn her! Burn the witch! *grins* Awesome stuff, but you already know that. Looking forward to more!February 6, 2006 at 5:57 am #2191asseropenParticipant
Beautiful BG. Maybe if Ligeia ever gets lost, they’ll cross paths. ::winks.::
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