Eliza awoke to the sound of horse-drawn carriages clattering over cobblestones outside her window. The soft chime of a distant clock tower marked the beginning of another day constrained by the rigorous standards of beauty. As she sat up, her eyes fell upon the corset draped over her vanity chair, a daily reminder of the sacrifices she made for societal approval. "Another day, another battle," she murmured, steeling herself for the ritual ahead.
With practiced precision, Eliza wound the corset around her waist, each pull of the laces drawing her tighter into the confines of the garment. Her mind drifted to Margaret, a dear friend whose devotion to beauty was as fervent as her own. "Margaret would laugh at my hesitation," she thought, recalling their countless conversations about love and the lengths they went to preserve it.
On her way to the market, Eliza spotted Margaret among the throng, her face adorned with the whimsical patches of silk that had become the latest fashion. "Eliza, over here!" she called, her voice bright and inviting. They exchanged pleasantries, but beneath Margaret's cheerful exterior lay a secret desperation. "John says he loves me, but what does love mean if I can't be perfect for him?"
Clara, another friend, sat at her vanity, carefully applying a star-shaped patch over a blemish. The room was filled with the heavy fragrance of lavender, a necessary mask for the lack of bathing. "These patches are my armor," Clara confessed to Eliza, her voice tinged with melancholy. "We all wear armor," Eliza replied, understanding the unspoken pain that lay beneath the surface.
The three friends gathered in a small tearoom, their conversation turning to the peculiar remedies of the time. "Did you hear about the beetle potion?" Margaret asked, her eyes wide with disbelief. "It's madness," Eliza agreed, but they all knew how deeply ingrained these rituals were in their lives.
As they strolled through the park, Eliza felt a sense of camaraderie with her friends, a shared understanding of their struggles. "Perhaps one day we'll look back and laugh," she mused, "But for now, we endure, don't we?" Margaret nodded, Clara squeezed Eliza's hand in silent agreement. In their shared journey through the trials of beauty, they found strength in their humanity, a bond that transcended the confines of their corsets and patches.
