As far as her social calendar goes, Gwenaëlle has never been enthused about weddings. The ceremony has never inspired her to anything except a headache; better not to get into what the notion of marriage prompts. For more than one occasion, she's ignored invitations, begged off ill, been mysteriously out of the area or flatly declined to attend -
but for Aleron, she makes an appearance. Dutiful throughout the ceremony and dressed finely in the Vauquelin shade of green, she ignores the receiving line - imagines the happy couple will be far too occupied with each other and their guests to notice - and declines all invitations to dance, politely aloof as such occasions invariably find her. She does not make small-talk, nor bother much with anyone's family. It's quite possibly rude to snub the hostess, but somehow she thinks Aleron's sister will survive the slight.
He looks as if he might now survive anything, and it is worth sitting through a hundred weddings to see him so happy.
"There you are," she says, when at last there's a moment of peace in the festivities and she can catch him in the gardens, turning and holding her arms out - to embrace him, of course, but how can there not be shades of each time as a child she would turn in Mirielle's lap and hold her arms out in much the same fashion, expecting to be lifted? "I'm very happy for you, cousin. You look much less dour - I approve. It isn't as I remember you."
for aleron.
but for Aleron, she makes an appearance. Dutiful throughout the ceremony and dressed finely in the Vauquelin shade of green, she ignores the receiving line - imagines the happy couple will be far too occupied with each other and their guests to notice - and declines all invitations to dance, politely aloof as such occasions invariably find her. She does not make small-talk, nor bother much with anyone's family. It's quite possibly rude to snub the hostess, but somehow she thinks Aleron's sister will survive the slight.
He looks as if he might now survive anything, and it is worth sitting through a hundred weddings to see him so happy.
"There you are," she says, when at last there's a moment of peace in the festivities and she can catch him in the gardens, turning and holding her arms out - to embrace him, of course, but how can there not be shades of each time as a child she would turn in Mirielle's lap and hold her arms out in much the same fashion, expecting to be lifted? "I'm very happy for you, cousin. You look much less dour - I approve. It isn't as I remember you."
Nor as she'd choose to. He deserves a bit of joy.