Ficlet: Sketch
Oct. 12th, 2009 09:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Sketch
Fandom/original: The Woman in White (novel)
Rating: G
A/N: Fanfic, wow. How long has it been? Um... here. Have a ficlet.
Marian's sketches were quite competent; technically she and Laura were well-matched. But there was something childish and wondering in Laura's drawings, as if each subject surprised her. Marian's, while less classically artistic, reflected her precise and penetrating intellect.
If, for example, both chose to sketch a lake, Laura's would be impressionistic, conveying the idea of water and light and space. Marian would create an accurate representation of the shoreline, the distorted reflection of it echoed in the water. My vanity sometimes idly prompted me to wonder what sort of work they would make of me, as their subject.
It was not the first or only time I suffered from the sensation that I had nothing to teach either of them that they couldn't more effectively teach one another. It was, needless to say, unpleasant -- Marian, the woman I most respected in the world, and Laura, the woman I most adored, were, I often suspected, complete and whole without my presence. I watched them talk together quietly as they drew, a small smile teasing Marian's lips from time to time, Laura's laugh flitting in and out of the summer wind that carried it to me. Laura, my rival in Marian's friendship, could offer her sister an intimacy I could never match; and had Marian been a man, my jealousy of her place in Laura's affections would have inspired boundless jealousy.
As things stood, however, I watched both women from a little distance off, and wondered if their distinct but sympathetic minds had perceived the situation as mine had. More likely, their thoughts turned to less melancholy subject matter altogether, as the morning ripened to fullness.
Fandom/original: The Woman in White (novel)
Rating: G
A/N: Fanfic, wow. How long has it been? Um... here. Have a ficlet.
Marian's sketches were quite competent; technically she and Laura were well-matched. But there was something childish and wondering in Laura's drawings, as if each subject surprised her. Marian's, while less classically artistic, reflected her precise and penetrating intellect.
If, for example, both chose to sketch a lake, Laura's would be impressionistic, conveying the idea of water and light and space. Marian would create an accurate representation of the shoreline, the distorted reflection of it echoed in the water. My vanity sometimes idly prompted me to wonder what sort of work they would make of me, as their subject.
It was not the first or only time I suffered from the sensation that I had nothing to teach either of them that they couldn't more effectively teach one another. It was, needless to say, unpleasant -- Marian, the woman I most respected in the world, and Laura, the woman I most adored, were, I often suspected, complete and whole without my presence. I watched them talk together quietly as they drew, a small smile teasing Marian's lips from time to time, Laura's laugh flitting in and out of the summer wind that carried it to me. Laura, my rival in Marian's friendship, could offer her sister an intimacy I could never match; and had Marian been a man, my jealousy of her place in Laura's affections would have inspired boundless jealousy.
As things stood, however, I watched both women from a little distance off, and wondered if their distinct but sympathetic minds had perceived the situation as mine had. More likely, their thoughts turned to less melancholy subject matter altogether, as the morning ripened to fullness.
