Okay. The first thing I have to say before you read this is that I didn't write it because I have a love for the novel Great Expectations. Far from it. Honestly, I found the book to be boring as crap; I just really loved Estella’s character. Then I had this project assigned to me in English class. We read The House On Mango Street, and we were talking about a protagonist’s journey to self-discovery, and we had to choose a protagonist from a novel we’d read earlier in the year and write a bunch of vignettes about them. So, I picked Estella. And I wrote these vignettes from her point of view, and I used literary devices and crap (using literary devices was part of the project) and I just really like them, okay?! So, if you’re like me and you were forced to read Great Expectations, I hope you read and enjoy the only Great Expectations fanfiction in existence. Oh, also: SPOILER ALERT. I follow Estella through the entire plot of the book, so if you don’t know how it ends and you don’t want to know, DON’T READ IT. Okay. Cool. Enjoy. This is part three...
Estella - Part III. The Things Ladies Do
It is a curious thing, when one stands in the middle of a crowd and feels completely alone.
I watched the dancing couples twirl about, the sliding of their feet against the floor complementing the twinkling ballroom music swirling through the room. They looked so happy in their togetherness, so unafraid.
I stood near the wall, wishing desperately that I could slouch against it and relax, but knowing that I could not. A lady maintains perfect posture at all times, even if she is uncomfortable.
Earlier, I danced with Bentley Drummle. We waltzed and glided and followed all the motions. Perhaps I looked happy on the outside; perhaps all the others are only smiling for everybody else. Maybe underneath they wonder if maybe they should be smiling on the inside too. Maybe I'm not the exception to the rule.
But never mind that. A lady does not worry herself with trivial matters. She must focus on marriage; she must marry well, or she will have no future.
I have seen what happens to unmarried ladies.
I hold my dance card, rows of names in my neat and practiced handwriting, stacked one on top of the other. I danced with many men tonight, but I cannot remember who each of them are. I don't remember their personalities or their faces, or what we discussed as we rotated and revolved. All I retain is their names, thanks to the cardstock reminder creasing in my hand. One thing I do remember is anxiety. Tension. 'Will this one be the one to break me beyond repair?'
No. I won’t think like that. Ladies do not dwell on the unpleasantries; I will not dwell on the misery and loneliness that I do not (I don’t I don’t I don’t) feel. I will not dwell on the ways in which love can ruin you.
I remember time in a timeless room, splashes of jewels, a future promised and prepared for. My mother taught me well. She isn’t my mother by birth (that mother is unknown to me), but she raised me. She taught me all I know. She explained to me the ways in which the world works; she has allowed me to stray from the pitfall-laden path of searching for love, shown me how to be successful in marriage. How to gain, or, rather, how to cut my losses. That is how ladies find love; they find those who will bring them money and status.
The other young women ask why I dance with Drummle. They say that he’s self-centered and easily angered, indifferent and unromantic. Their boys give them flowers, but I don’t know why they like that so much - they’re just plants. Ladies like me don’t want flowers from their courtiers; they want jewelry.
I decided that I did enjoy dancing with Mr. Drummle. Really and truly. He is affluent. His family is respectable. I think this may be love.
- CinnamonGinger
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