[ lucille. ]
Her fingertips rose unconsciously to the left corner of her mouth.
Lucille kneeled, facing her trunk, quick hands diving to the very bottom to retrieve a large, circular candy tin. The lid came off, and its contents glittered from within; It was this tin in which she kept various possessions of the late Christine Magdelina Davenport.
Brooches, earrings, pendants -- all objects of her mother's covetous desire. The lot was littered with the trinkets she had claimed from Natasha's room; a variety of hair ribbons; and a beautiful porcelain bell. The bell, whose flared mouth had been crafted into the shape of a tiny blue bird, was to be her gift to the Royal Court, and tinkled sweetly when shook, not too soft, not too loud.
The most precious of these items had belonged not to Christine, but to her husband, Gregory. A golden pocketwatch looked up at Lucille from her palm, its chain swinging precariously below. The princess gingerly popped open the cover, winding it up before pressing the glass face to her ear.
tick. tick. tick.
It clicked like his heart.
But the time shortly came to put away this treasure. The chain hissed and rattled as it slid back in place, and she rummaged once again through the dazzling goods. Lucille scrupulously surveyed every ornament, each just as unsuitable as the next, until it caught her attention.
She harvested the bracelet by its fastening to get a better look. Baroque pearls alternated with fat, round garnets that sat securely in their sterling setting, dark and crimson, acting as a forceful reminder of a time Lucille had once pricked her finger; She sustained the minor injury sewing, no less -- a useless pastime in her opinion -- and from the microscopic wound blossomed a single drop of rich, radiant blood.
It was fit for no less than a queen.
And there was nothing wrong, Lucille decided, with being a knight.