slow show

Virginia shuffled tediously to her husband's side, sipping the chardonnay in her glass without interest.


Where on earth have you been darling? I've just had the pleasure of meeting this wonderful couple.


Virginia half smiled as Leonard introduced her to mister and missus Dalloway. She strained her smile even further as she shook Mr. Dalloway's smooth hand and took note of how his wife's was significantly rougher. The next few minutes she spent in silence as Leonard talked about poetry and art with the male Dalloway, slipping into the conversation various references to painters and poets in case the Dalloways hadn't noticed how infuriatingly pretentious he already was. Virginia and I were at the Tate earlier this afternoon, we absolutely adored the showcase of recently restored Pre-Raphaelites. Mr. Dalloway remarked that his personal favorite was Gustave Moreau and she could see a hint of perspiration begin to form above Leonard's upper lip as he struggled to keep up. She despised his insecurity, his need to pander and keep up with Mr. Dalloway and she wondered if they could see what a fool he was making of himself.

Mrs. Dalloway kept her gaze first on the ceiling then on the ground and seemed to be interested in everything else except the people before her. When Virginia finally caught her eyes she ascertained a certain form of sadness, not explicit, but almost certainly there. She wondered if Clarissa Dalloway was as unhappy as she was, if there was some unifying thread that bound these two strangers together. The Dalloways were significantly older than Virginia and Leonard, although Mrs. Dalloway had a somewhat vibrant twinkle in her eyes if you looked past the wrinkles that framed them. She had small, soft lips and a rather defined jaw with cheekbones so sharp you could cut glass with them. Undoubtedly beautiful, yet there was something about her which was beginning to gnaw at Virginia. She looked excruciatingly sad, and her sadness was so expertly concealed, so gentle - like it could only come from years of acceptance. This particular sight disturbed her, but not as much as when Mr. Dalloway reached to touch her shoulder and Virginia was certain she saw her shrink away for the tiniest of seconds before returning her husband's gesture.

Making a feeble excuse which none of the men heard and which Mrs. Dalloway barely acknowledged, Virginia slipped out of the conversation and into another room which had none of the guests, none of the wine and thankfully, none of the noise. She found a wooden chair and collapsed into it as she rested her head in her hands. Upon the table were a handful of lilies in a beautiful crystal vase and the markings etched into it would have been something to marvel at had it not also reflected Virginia sobbing quietly in the corner.


Fiction however, allows the protagonist in the story to be stronger than what it reflects in real life. Virginia understands this and she takes a long deep breath before making her way back to Leonard's side. Ah, there you are darling. For a moment there I thought I'd lost you.