Greenwilt was a funny season. Some days, it was so cold and gloomy that Alison wanted nothing but to stay in bed. Other days, it could be absolutely lovely out, and then the orange leaves made it the most beautiful time of year. Today it was both: beautifully sunny, yet quite cold (or at least colder than one was used to). In other words: the perfect day to go to the races as long as you were dressed for the weather.

The good thing about the weather was that she could finally get her furs out again. The bad thing about her treating the first cold day of the year as a fashion show was that she was late. And she was never late, or at least not that often. Maybe it would have been better if she had picked a different day to be late, though, as today's excursion to the races would be spent alongside her mother. The woman never quite appreciated tardiness, which, granted, was fair enough. Still, Alison would prefer not to start the day off on the wrong foot.

She hurried outside towards the carriage that already stood waiting. As soon as she had climbed in, the door was closed behind her and they immediately took off. Oops. She found her mother's gaze, not too sure what she was thinking although she could probably guess. "Good morning, mother." she said, trying to salvage the situation.

Outfit

No response. Alison was never quite sure whether that meant that she had lucked out or that the worst was yet to come. Only now did she notice the pocket watch her mother was holding and so she suspected today would be a case of the latter. Not that the woman needed a pocket watch to know that her daughter was tardy.

If she were a braver soul, she would have broken the silence. But when it came to her mother she was always more apprehensive, never quite sure what response her chatter would trigger. It wasn't always bad, after all. She did love her mother and sometimes they even spent quality time together, something that today would have been perfect for had she not ruined it before it had properly started. So when the carriage took off and her mother still hadn't said anything, Alison decided to just take the win and not prod the lion any further. She had just turned her head to look at the window when her mother's voice finally sounded, harsh and loud and accompanied by three knocks on the ceiling. The young blonde's head jerked back towards her mother, waiting for an explanation that didn't seem to come.

Until it came.

It made every hair on her body stand up straight, a chill running along her spine in the discomfort of it all, eyes wide with confusion and disbelief. She had felt pretty in the ensemble, something she got towards the end of the season last year and therefore had barely gotten any wear out of yet. "What's wrong with it?" she asked, her voice somehow always an octave higher whenever she spoke to her mother. The blonde head bobbed down, inspecting the coat for any tears or stains, anything that she might have missed. But she didn't spot anything, nothing large enough to explain why her mother couldn't be seen with her. Hurtful words that she would love to argue with if they had come from anyone else.

Outfit

One could say that talking back to Cassiopeia Winter once was a brave thing to do. Stupid, but brave. Twice was a suicide mission. So there really was no other option than for Alison to accept the fact that they were indeed turning around and that they would be Renestrae knows how late. Maybe the back talking hadn't even been the root of the issue, though. It very well might have been inevitable the moment she was late. Maybe that was why her mother did not answer her question, although she might have had other reasons for that as well.

It was disappointing, though. She had been looking forward to the races and to finally flaunting her furs again. But she knew better than to sulk in front of her mother and so she turned her face towards the window, away from her as she tried to get it back in track. It could still be a good day, she just needed to behave better from now on.

Her gaze turned back towards her mother as her voice sounded again, perfectly neutral this time. "Yes, mother." she answered, the only acceptable answer. Her mother had a grand sense of style and as a child Alison always dreamed of someday wearing her dresses. Now that she was finally old enough to potentially do so, they didn't quite fit. Not that she would ever be allowed to wear something of her mother's out in public; the risk of people thinking she would need hand-me-downs was unacceptable.

----

As her mother went through her dresses, Alison shot a sneaky look at the mirror. The confidence she had felt that morning had taken a bit of a hit and as she now looked at her reflection she agreed that something was a bit off, although she wasn't quite sure what. Maybe it would be for the best if this ensemble went back into the closet for a little while. Her hand went up to the back of her head, trying to feel whether the braids stacked there still felt secure. Luckily, they felt fine; if that had to be redone they might as well stay home.

Outfit

It wouldn’t be the first time Alison got distracted by her own sight in the mirror. Even today, the sneaky glance ended up being not really sneaky or short at all. It was at the very least long enough for her mother to notice and when she appeared behind her in the reflection, the younger woman stiffened. She could never be sure what her mother was thinking or how she would act. So she waited, staring at their joined reflection in the meantime.

Her mother truly was the epitome of elegance. Those high cheekbones and sharp jawline and perfectly pale complexion made her look regal, as if from the moment she was born it was clear that she would be the one to marry into the Winter family. Alison did take after her mother, slightly, but her father’s genes influenced her looks too much to say she was her spitting image. Bushy brows and fading summer freckles gave it away. She should remember to powder once more before they left for the races again.

Her green eyes found her mother’s icy blue gaze and for a moment she could almost see some emotion in them. But it was gone the moment she spoke and Alison turned around to face her. Her mother had found a dark purple dress that had been abandoned to the back of her closet, along with some items of her own. It wasn’t exactly Alison’s style, but beautiful nonetheless. ”Thank you, mother.” she said with a small smile on her face.

It took her a little while to get changed, as it did with these kind of outfits. When she was finished, she felt it was all a bit out of her comfort zone. The dark hues made her feel like Vivienne Howard and that was never a good thing. But when she stepped back in front of the mirror she supposed she understood what her mother was getting at. The contrasting shades made her look paler than she was. Fairer, in essence. She doubted any of her friends would recognize her like this, but that was no matter if it made her mother happy. ”It’s beautiful.”

One never knew what Cassiopeia Winter was exactly thinking. Only if you had to feel her wrath, she made sure you felt it. That did not happen to Alison, not really. Her mother loved her and did not treat her that way. Which meant that for Alison, what her mother was thinking was often a guessing game. It had caused her to tense up whenever she could feel her mother's gaze on her, never quite sure what sort of disapproving thoughts she was having. Unless she voiced them, of course, like she had done in the carriage. That was when Alison knew that she had really messed up and needed to lay low for a while.

The young blonde held her breath as her mother appeared in the reflection once again. They looked more alike now than before, which wasn't too surprising considering the fact that most of what Alison was wearing was actually her mother's. The duchess and the heiress. She wondered if she would become more like her mother when she would be the duchess herself. More steadfast and certain, not afraid to make the hard decisions. More cold and calculating, maybe, with high standards for the people around her that were justified considering the role she found herself in.

A shiver ran down her spine as her mother combed her fingers through her hair, as if she were afraid that she would tug on it. She had instructed the servant to leave the bottom half of it down that day out of convenience, as she was already late; the upper half braided as there was no way she would leave the house with her hair completely down. Maybe if she had, she wouldn't have been as late and then maybe her mother wouldn't have made her change.

A small smile appeared on her face at her mother's... kind words. One could hear it as a compliment, that the ensemble in which she felt less comfortable by the minute just looked that great. But Alison was smart enough that this was probably more of a jab towards her own style. Why, so all of a sudden, she wasn't sure. The dark, feathered hat was large enough to cover about half of her face. Did she want her to hide?

Alison did not want to wear this style more often, but she also did not want to say no. Not to her face, not when she was standing so close. "I have just been to the dressmaker." she settled on, implicating that her new clothes had not been ordered with this style in mind. Her mother would know what she meant. She looked straight ahead in the mirror, not trying to find her mother's eyes in the reflection, like a child in school who tried his best to blend in with his surroundings in order not to be called on. Only this was a private conversation; she might be able to avoid her mother's gaze, but not her words.