She wore a high-necked grey gown of taffeta, sewn in a demure manner and trimmed with creamy lace. The bodice was straight, and embroidered with silvery threads into intricate vines. The sleeves were long and cut sharply, with silver ribbons at the cuffs. All in all it was a serious, straight and slightly boring dress. But the wearer was far from boring. The dress wasn’t ill-fitted, but it didn’t suit her one bit. She was tall and slim, with awkward long limbs. She had a heart-shaped face, and a rosy complexion. She had wide brown eyes and a slightly pointed nose, and lips that are curled up always into a smile. Freckles were scattered on her cheeks and over the bridge of her nose like a million stars scattered across the sky. But the most noticeable part of her appearance was her hair. The fine orange locks like threads of fire were plaited and pinned, and decorated with a rope of pearls, for after all she was being on display. And her name was Aleksandra.

She wore a gown of pink muslin, with a square-cut neck and long trailing sleeves. The skirts were covered in layers of fine lawn, and here and there a few rosettes were pinned. Her corset was done up tightly to show the curves of her body, and the bodice was decorated with small sparkling gems to draw attention. Her hair was done up in a bun, but more than a few golden curls were now hanging by the side of her small, delicate face. She had wide blue eyes, the shade of the cloudless summer sky, and full lips that pouts prettily. Her nose was small, and like her sister she had a rosy complexion. Her skin was flawless with not a freckle in sight, and now a slight blush crept into her cheeks. She lowered her head and swept into a curtsy. And her name was Anastasia.

She wore a gown of blue silk, with an off-the-shoulder cut and pretty puffy sleeves. Her skirts were wide, and they were torn and ripped in several places. The embroidered hem of her skirt was drenched in mud, and her windswept hair was tied up in a blue ribbon. She had ebony locks, hair so dark it was like the colour of the midnight sky. Her eyes were of the most peculiar shade of green, and shaped like almonds. She had a porcelain complexion, but her cheeks were painted pink from the run home. Her hands were slender and long-fingered, and she held with one hand a spade and the other a kind of weed from the garden. She grinned, and her eyes sparkled with the life in her. And her name was Tatiana.

The End

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