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She almost teared up. She had almost forgotten those feelings of desperate and hopeless longing.
"Oh, dear heart," Kasseh said, from behind. "You looked so sad!"
Cecelia snapped the notebook shut. "How long have you been there?"
"Just for a moment. Let me look again!" (4/5) #wss366

Then she turned a page and drew in her breath involuntarily. It was the self-portrait she had drawn: looking directly at the artist.
She had the haunted expression she remembered so well, before she knew what she was -- when she still thought there must be something wrong with her. (3/5) #wss366

He always wanted her to sketch some classic still-life topic, like a draped cloth or a bottle. But she had refused. She smiled at the memory.
She continued to #turn pages. There was the run-down shed in the formal garden. And the intricate and twisted branches of the Camperdown elm. (2/5) #wss366

Later, Cecelia looked through her old art notebook. The earliest sketches were all flowers from the greenhouse at Aspidelle Manor. She had begun drawing in winter. There was a Camellia blossom, a raceme of orchids, and forced bulbs. She still remembered her tutor's exasperation. (1/5) #wss366

If you miss living in a country of laws, remember that anyone who is not cis-het and white has always known that we have never lived in a country of laws.