Work Text:
Vervain smoothed down her skirts nervously as she made her way to the studio. Another admirer had accosted her on her way there, and she was rather done with all of them. The men, of course, were more brazen than the women, but she desired none of them. Vervain savored the smoothness of her paintbrush in her hand, not another's cheek. She yearned for the kiss of lovers on the canvas, not for herself. And she longed to feel the soft silk of her chemise folded in the drawer, not the unpleasantly human skin of another. If she desired skin, she could pick at her own, feeling the bits of it that came up in her hands. Mother had always said she shouldn't, but mother wanted her pretty and marriageable. Disposable.
Vervain flapped out her unoccupied wrist a few more times before finally approaching the easel, cane tapping hard on the studio floor as she heaved from the exertion. The sound was loud — too loud, but inevitable. Earlier, she had fled her perspective suitor too quickly. Now she was surely paying for it.
Vervain sank gratefully onto the stool, feeling her back wobble a little before it finally, blessedly steadied. It took her several minutes of broken breaths to finally feel steady enough to close her eyes for a moment, long enough to shut out the light so she could have one fewer active sense.
She nearly swore when she realized she'd forgotten to grab any supplies, and then exhaled in heavy relief when she saw the palette, brush, and water she hasn't managed to put away last time. Pain nearly damned her efforts today, but it had saved her days earlier.
Vervain shut her eyes again, seeking visions. They came, dazzling. She opened her eyes and lifted the brush.