Short Story Drafts

In 19th century England, Violet Adagio works as a maid for the Davenports, a wealthy, aristocratic family with an energetic and unconventional daughter, Sophia. Despite her financial condition, Violet’s dream to pursue music as a career still remains in her heart. She longs for a life where she can be a composer and musician despite being a woman. Sophia longs for a life without social and societal pressure where she isn’t arranged to marry whatever man her parents choose for her. The two girls both long for a life with the freedom to be who they want to be and are also, unbeknownst to them, similar in their feelings for each other as well.

   Her fingers danced on the keys of the grand piano, her hands as fluid and agile as a ballerina. A beautiful melody filled the small room. Music had always been Violet Adagio’s passion since she was a little girl. 

   As she played the last notes of the song, she exhaled a long sigh. Playing the piano was one of the few times she truly felt at peace. The piano however, wasn’t even hers. It was owned by the wealthy, aristocratic British family, the Davenports. After she finished playing, she dusted the keys and polished the dark velvet exterior. It truly was a beautiful piano, and quite possibly the largest one she’d ever seen. It was a shame none of the Davenports actually knew how to play and that it was mostly a symbol of their wealth.

    She left to finish cleaning the rest of their excessively large manor. Each hallway was decorated with sculptures and paintings that must’ve cost a fortune. Oh how she wished she had even a quarter of their money. If she did, she would have pursued music as a career. This was because the amount of income she would make as a young, middle-class woman in a world where most professional musicians and composers were male, would be minuscule. It wouldn’t be nearly enough to provide for both her and her sickly mother. At least working for the Davenports, as monotonous as it may be, gave her a good amount of money to bring home. 

      She heard the large oak doors of the manor opening. Violet rushed to the foyer. 

Sophia Davenport, the youngest of the family, a woman about Violet’s age and nearly 20, entered the house. 

     “My lady,” Violet bowed. 

     “Violet, I’ve told you many times before that just Sophia is fine,” Sophia Davenport replied.

     Violet sighed, they had had this conversation on many occasions already. “But my lady, that would be improper-“ 

    In a very un-aristocratic manner, Sophia interrupted her. “Oh come on, whenever you say my lady it makes me feel like some sort of princess or something. I mean I know I have the looks for it, but could you imagine—me, a princess of England? Especially if I ruled. Oh if I was queen, the country would turn to chaos in a day!”

   Violet couldn’t help but smile. Sophia had a tendency to ramble about the most random things but Violet always enjoyed their conversations. She was always so easygoing and energetic, especially for someone of her status. Sophia was the one person that made Violet’s work a little more bearable.  

   “Well you see, I have been instructed by your parents to refer to you in a way befitting of your position. Since I am just a mere peasant and you are the daughter of one of the wealthiest families in the country, it only makes sense.” Violet had meant to sound humorous, but it ended up sounding more self-deprecating than she would’ve liked.

    This made Sophia frown. “Hey, you are so much more than just a mere peasant. You’re kind, and you somehow always know how to tell when I’m in a bad mood and how to cheer me up.” 

   Violet blushed at her words. Though, she did wonder whether Sophia would’ve also complimented her piano playing had she known about it. However, Violet had been careful to keep that a secret from the Davenports in fear of getting into trouble or even losing her job. 

   “And not to mention, you’re also quite beautiful.”

    This made Violet’s ears practically burst into flames. 

    “O-oh, I-“ She stuttered like a child who hadn’t yet learned to speak.

     To make matters worse, Sophia continued with her shameless banter. “Aww, you’re turning red.”

    It was stupid how easily Sophia could make Violet’s heart rate pick up. 

   “Sophia! Y-you can’t just say things like that out of the blue!”

   “Hah! I got you to lighten up a bit. It’s almost as if my parents are rubbing off on you.” Sophia.

   “You being so blunt all the time is probably going to end up costing my job.”     

    Sophia scoffed. “As if I’d ever let my parents fire you, you dimwit.” 

     Despite the small insult, Violet couldn’t help but feel relieved. 

     It must’ve shown on her face because Sophia looked at her softly. “What, you didn’t actually think I could ever give up having a friend like you? Even though I suppose you’re sort of forced to be my friend.”

    “No no! Not at all, I’m not forced to be your friend. I truly enjoy spending time with you. And I know that you wouldn’t let me get fired but I still fear doing anything too unprofessional knowing how much of a purist  your mother can be.”

    “Yes, she is a bit of a stuck up isn’t she?” Sophia paused for a second before smirking slightly. Violet didn’t like that look. “And by doing anything unprofessional, do you by any chance mean playing the grand piano in our drawing room?”

     Violet’s heart felt as if it had dropped to her stomach. “W-what? I have no idea what you mean my lady.”

     Sophia just laughed. “Why do you look so frightened? It’s beautiful piano playing. I’ve never heard it before but when arriving home just now I heard it from the foyer. Honestly, no one’s used that old thing in years, it was just dying to be played.” 

    Violet chewed on her lip nervously. “You’re not mad?

    “Of course not! Why would I be mad?”

    “It’s just that, I know that thing must’ve cost a fortune” 

    “True, it probably is worth a ton. Still, it’s no good just lying around looking pretty—even though that is why my parents bought it.” Sophia let out a sigh. “It’s what my parents want for me anyways. To doll me up and marry me off to a suitor.”

    This was undoubtedly true; however, Violet didn’t know what to say—or what she was allowed to say. All she knew was that it was better to stay quiet and let Sophia blow off some of her built up tension.

    The two of them had made their way to the drawing room by now and Sophia had theatrically thrown herself across one of the plush, satin, crimson colored couches. Violet sat down on the adjacent one. This was somewhat of a ritual for the two. Sophia would often ramble to Violet about her day, her wishes, or simple thoughts. Sometimes however, the conversations were more serious. 

    “It’s just—what if I hate him? What if he’s snobby and arrogant or… gross,” she said with a shudder.

    “Well if he is gross you could always poison him then run off with his money.” 

    “Violet!” Sophia gasped half scandalized and half laughing. She threw a pillow at her.       

    Violet caught the pillow. “I’m joking!” She exclaimed defensively.

    Sophia smiled at her. And no, that was dangerous. Her smile would fare pretty well in a battle against the sun—on what was the brightest. “You know you’re pretty funny when you want to be. I feel lucky knowing this side of you. I bet I’m the only one who does.” 

    Violet chuckled softly. “Yes, you are.”

    Sophia kept going though. “I’ve seen the chef’s son looking at you before. I bet he’s never heard you crack a joke though.”    

    There was something somewhat vindictive yet proud in her voice. Acidic and possessive—bordering jealous even. Violet silently scolded herself. That wouldn’t make sense. What would Sophia have to be jealous about? Violet’s heart rate picked up. 

    There I go. Muddling reality with my nonsensical, foolish, delusory thoughts. She thought bitterly.

In 1950s America, two women, Cynthia Foster and Caroline Lowell, are stuck in loveless marriages. Yet they find each other to be beacons of hope in the midst of everything.

Cynthia Foster’s life was rather bleak and dreary. She was a diligent housewife and a secretary at the publishing press. Her job wasn’t necessarily difficult, just monotonous. Her husband wasn’t necessarily bad, just distant. 

She lived a fortunate life. One where she didn’t have to worry about money—she and James made a decent amount together. He was a practical man, saving a majority of their money for rainy days and a bigger house when they ultimately had children since they were living in an apartment. This thought made Cynthia oddly queasy. Something about buying a large house together seemed so permanent. She internally reprimanded herself for her nonsensical thoughts. We’re married. How could it be any more permanent? And why does it matter? 

“Hey ma'am, are you going to buy anything?” the seller at the open market asked her, snapping her out of her daze.

“Oh yes, I’m awfully sorry. I got lost in my thoughts.”

Cynthia quickly bought the rest of the vegetables she had on her list and hurried back on the path to the apartment, flustered. 

On the way back, she saw the Dusty Pages bookstore. I deserve a little break don’t I? She mused. It had, after all, been quite a strenuous day. Work had been hectic—the press had to scramble to finish their quota of pieces to publish. It was also the same day Cynthia was meant to do groceries. Perhaps she could’ve told James that she would’ve preferred to get the groceries another day instead—he likely would've said yes—but she didn’t want it to result in an unnecessary strain on their relationship.

Wanting to be nice to herself that day, Cynthia let herself walk in. It had been months since she had last been. True to its name, the bookstore was filled with the scent of dusty books as well as new books. It was a place where she could imagine herself in any world she wanted. In her mind, she wasn’t just going through the motions of being a secretary and housewife—she was an explorer on a voyage around the world or a princess writing love letters to a prince in a neighboring kingdom or a mad scientist working on the most horrifying yet impressive creation the world had ever seen. She almost felt herself audibly sigh as she got lost in her thoughts. 

Cynthia grabbed a book off the shelf that she had been eyeing a few months ago. 

“I’ve read that one! The Awakening right?” A honey-like voice called from behind her. 

Cynthia nearly startled at the sound of the stranger’s voice. She looked behind her and her shock only increased. The woman looked like she could’ve been a Hollywood starlet. She had shining, perfectly styled hair like golden silk. There was bright red lipstick painted on her lips and she was wearing a pink skirt suit. Cynthia didn’t consider herself to be the type to judge a book by a cover but the woman didn’t seem like the type of person to be in a bookstore. Cynthia tended to see people who were more like her, people who were neat and dressed nice but rather in professional, muted colors who didn’t draw much attention to themselves. 

“Oh really? How was it?” Cynthia inquired. 

The woman paused as if calculating her words. “Well, it was objectively very well written. Chopin was inarguably a very impressive writer. Her voice and style were conveyed beautifully throughout her novel. It just—wasn’t my personal style.” 

She spoke with a tone that conveyed she had knowledge on the subject but one that wasn’t overly patronizing. For that reason, it shocked Cynthia that the woman had ended her own flow of thought so abruptly. Her personal opinion, ‘that it wasn’t her style,’ was rather elementary for someone seemingly so academic.