A salty sea breeze gently rustled the grass. The normally dreary grey sky was peppered with cotton ball clouds that gave way to blue sky and a warm sun. The trees swayed in the wind, leaves rustling happily, the smell of roses, berry pies and the ocean permeating everything. By all accounts, it was a beautiful summer day in Gilneas.
“Mama, why can’t we go to the picnic?” A little girl’s voice pierced the air of the tiny sitting room, her little blonde pigtails bouncing with artificial curls and obnoxiously pink ribbons as she sat on the little armchair, bouncing up and down restlessly.
The click of a tongue broke the silence, “Picnics are beneath proper young ladies, Juniper Rose. And you still have your scales to work through.” The woman’s voice was severe and unforgiving, and the tall figure that stood - arms crossed and nose haughtily airborne - in front of the girl looked anything but motherly. Her faded blonde hair was up in a tight bun, her grey eyes were cold as steel, and the lipstick she wore did little to draw attention away from the crow’s feet pulling at the corners of her eyes.
“But Mama, King Greymane said it was for everyone.” June’s voice was hopeful - she wanted to get to spend time with the other kids, outside her lonely home. And even at the age of 5, she understood to a degree that her mother preferred events where she could preen for higher classes’ attention.
Her mother took pause at that, tapping her lip. It had been some time since she’d shown her presence at a social event, and though she was young, she might be able to start preparing her daughter for betrothment. She sucked in air through her teeth, her face stern, “And you plan on wearing that?!” She motioned to her daughter’s current plain white day dress - the one Donna herself had put her in - and scoffed. “No, no, no. Go get the blue lace dress, and your matching ribbons for your hair, and be quick about it!”
June didn’t need telling twice - she ran for the spindly staircase that led upstairs to the closet her mother had deemed her bedroom. It had a single tiny window by the bed, and a short wardrobe where her dresses had been hung. She pulled down the blue lace item - frills and scalloped edging and eyelet lace and itchy-cuffed sleeves - and grabbed the blue ribbons that matched it from a little basket on the floor.
She hurried downstairs with the items just in time to see her mother had changed from the plain red housecoat she’d been wearing to a more posh, ruffle-collared crushed velvet dress of Gilneas grey, with a tiny hint of gold embroidery around the cuffs of her sleeves. A matching hat - which looked more suitable for a tiny animal to wear - was affixed atop her severe bun, modesty netting feathered out tastefully. The woman was adorning her ears with her nice pearl studs as June arrived before her once more.
“Well… at least you can follow instructions,” her mother’s tone was almost a complaint. But she wasted no time, taking the items from June and moving with a swiftness as she removed the girl’s current dress, straightened her undergarments, and slipped the lace dress over her daughter’s head. Getting the sleeves into place and properly fluffed, tying the lace belt snugly around her waist, and smoothing the skirt so that it was prim and proper took a couple minutes. Afterward, she carefully untied each of the ribbons in June’s hair and froufrou-ed the girl’s curls a little before using the new blue ribbons to tie it up in the back. The double-bow she affixed on top was impeccable, almost impossibly so. When Donna was done, her daughter looked less like a 5-year-old girl and more like a fragile doll which should only ever be looked at but never touched. A click crossed Donna’s tongue and she nodded, “I suppose it doesn’t get much better than that.”
June did her best to stand as politely before her mother as she could - within a few moments, her mother was correcting her posture, as always.
A half hour later, June and Donna were arriving outside Greymane manor in a tiny carriage meant for a single occupant. The driver held a hand out to Donna expectantly as the pair deboarded. Donna sneered and parted with three silver coins, then grasped her daughter’s hand tightly and walked them to the entrance. The butler motioned them forward to announce them to Lady Greymane and company:
“Mrs. Donna Blower and her daughter Miss Juniper Rose.”
Mia met them at the door with a pleasant smile, “Mrs. Donna, it’s lovely to see you again. Honestly, you should sell that glass-blowing business so you can retire as a proper Lady.” Donna did her best to maintain her smile, but the comment stung. She was the business, as she had yet to teach anyone else her techniques for glass-making.
“Why, thank you, my Queen. You are too kind. How fare your husband and young Liam this summer? The weather has been agreeable of late.” And before June knew it, the conversation was very boring. She tugged her hand a little, trying to free it from her mother’s vice grip. Eventually Donna glanced down at her and released her hand, warning the girl, “Don’t cause any trouble.”
And so June went to one of the refreshment tables against the wall, peeking at what they were offering. Summer in Gilneas meant there was fresh fruit, little finger sandwiches, and tea and lemonade to drink. June tried reaching for the plates on the back of the table but couldn’t quite get to them. After several moments of her struggling on her tiptoes, curls swaying with her body, a chuckle sounded from behind her.
“Hey shorty. Need some help?” The voice was that of a young boy.
“I am -not- a shorty!” When June turned around to puff her cheeks at the boy, she blinked in surprise and immediately bowed in embarrassment, “Prince Liam!”
Liam could not have been more than nine or ten years old. His ginger hair was pulled back in a short ponytail at the nape of his neck, his blue eyes bright as he looked at her, some errant freckles adorning his cheeks. Several awkward seconds passed, and June realised that it wasn’t Lady-like for her to bow. She shifted into a messy curtsey, but the movement caused her to lose her balance, falling forward.
This elicited another chuckle from the boy, “You should be more careful,” he said, offering her a hand to help her up.
“Thank you.” She took it, averting her gaze away from him in embarrassment. But then a plate with a big slice of sweetmelon appeared before her and she turned back to see he was holding it for her.
“This is what you wanted, right?” His smile was kind as he wiggled the plate in front of her again. Another chuckle sounded when she nodded at him, and he pushed the plate closer to her, “So take it.”
June couldn’t help but smile as the plate was pushed into her hands. She went to take a bite of melon and paused, frowning. “I… I should eat this outside. Mama will get mad if I make a mess.” She looked up at Liam and tried to curtsey again, “Thank you, Prince Liam.” And with that she hurried off before he could respond, winding around people until she was headed outside.
Once outside, she let out a sigh of relief. “Mama would be so angry if she knew I caused trouble for the Prince.” Heterochromatic eyes looked about to find a place to sit, spotting a tree with branches low enough to climb. She plopped down beneath it, picking up her slice of sweetmelon. A deep green rind gave way to juicy crimson flesh that glistened in the sun. Little white and black seeds shown here and there, and the scent it gave off was light and sweet. Even as she held it, juice was already coating her fingers and threatening to run down her hands onto her dress. She licked her lips and took that first bite, relaxing as the flavor of it hit her tongue. It was perfect!
With all the grace a five-year-old girl could have, she inhaled the rest of the melon slice. By the time she was done, juice had run down her chin onto the front of her dress, staining it slightly pink. Leaving the plate and rind on the ground, June stood and wiped her hands on her skirt to dry them before looking up at the tree. The great birch had patches of pale gray bark missing, revealing the light-colored wood underneath; its trunk was wide and strong, with gnarly, knotted branches sprouting out almost at the roots that the five-year-old girl could easily reach to climb.
Standing before the birch tree, sticky and stained with sweetmelon juice, June did the only thing logical in this situation. She started to climb. Each branch dragged against her skirt as she climbed. Her little white stockings snagged, leaving visible runs behind. As she moved from the fourth branch to the fifth, a bit of lace caught on a knot, leaving a rough tear in the delicate dress.
