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The hem of my dress rustled in the stems of grass as I stepped from the last stair. With so much fabric swathed around my legs, fitting into the coach might be a harder task than it ought. I cleared my throat to dismiss the faint bubble of a laugh that tried to well up.

Laughing on the way to my father’s funeral would not give the right impression.

The coachman tugged at his hat brim as I stepped forward, offering one gloved hand for assistance. “Milady.” That farm-boy voice sent an ache through my chest. If only he knew. If only…

My fingertips rest against his for a moment and I swung up into the coach, hauling my draperies in with no little effort. The warm scent of leather seats mingled with the lingering dampness, shrouding me in another layer—more familiar and natural than the dark folds of my skirts.

To start us off, here’s my rough attempt. 🙂 Aaaand I just got a story idea. Nooooo. *flees because I already have too many ideas I want to write*

@inspirewrite
@valtmy
@esther-sears
@parker
@caleb-e-king
@h-jones
@selah-chelyah
@writerpiper
@jessi-rae
@theswordinthebook
@thewirelessblade
@fctait
@faith_blum
@professorsjb
@spottedlivvie
@katthewriter
@lightning-spider
@skye
@_simplybee