Miss Haversham aesthetic

For/with ROSE:

A thoroughly Miss Haversham aesthetic.
we were in tattered white gowns very late 18th century. we were 16 years old with powdered messy blonde dreadlocks, half twisted around wired ribbon.
our hairs were very loooooooooong.

we were in the charge of a Roulhac-like figure who was dressed and coiffed to match us, but she was a littl emore put together. she wanted to take us to the country.
she tried to fix my hair, but it kept un rolling itself in spittle lace tangles.

we escaped.
climbing down river banks full of snow, a very un-virginian kind of Brown Dirt mixing in some color. we were lost in the woods and far away from Miss Roulhac Haversham..... we were throwing snow all over our fur hats and shawls and crazed petticoats.

Then we came upon a leanto that just barely housed yet another woman in tattered white.
She was like a shaman, she was a frozen princess meditating on the disintegration of grograin and chiffon.

Seed pearls freckled the mountain of her, crystal diadems crowned each silver eyelash. Were it not for the shadow of the lean-to, she would have blended into the wintry white, a mere sparkle in the atmosphere.

We sat in front of her as worshippers do those giant golden Buddhas in thailand.
she spoke about something - Femininity, the winter, the crystal moment of contentment buried in months of solitude. virginal, white hot, well lived.