67th Spring, 516AV
Ever since the disastrous reunion with her girl friends last season, Amelia had developed a newfound passion for candle making. It was strange; she had never shown an interest in the hobby before -- though granted she did appreciate a fine smelling candle as much as the next person. Perhaps it was thanks to the severe humiliation she had felt when she’d sat with those very same young women who had framed her childhood, feeling more out of place than she ever had done before.
They had all been so painfully stupid, gossiping and chirping away about pregnancies, engagements and late-night kisses with rich merchants. And not so long ago, Amelia would have been joining in with their petty competitions. In fact, she would have probably been winning. Amelia was gifted with an easy kind of confidence that she wore like a string of pearls; from the way she smiled, to the casual formality of her mannerisms. She been sculpted over the years – mainly by her own hands - to flow easily in almost any given social situation. This ease did not stop at silly competitions held by silly girls who wanted to validate their silly lives.
And yet that day, whilst they had been celebrating Maria’s fast-approaching due date, for the first time Amelia felt out of touch, separate from the rest of them. There had been too many sly looks and snide under-the-breath comments about her father’s adultery, which had left Amelia and her mother with significantly less wealth than the rest of her friends’ families. If their change in status had not been enough, the fact that her pig-of-a-father’s choice of whore lover had been one of Amelia’s close friends certainly made interesting gossip.
All of this had culminated in a horrifically painful evening wherein Amelia found herself the centre of pitying comments and awkward silences. Even now, the mere memory of her friend’s faux-sad faces and pouted bottom lips made her skin crawl.
But that evening had resulted in something else other than humiliation. Amelia had walked away from her gaggle of friends feeling as much pity for them as they no doubt felt for her. Beyond their husbands or their squealing infant children, they had relatively little to give the world. Throughout the evening, she had longed for her friends to ask about her sewing and fashion design – the single aspect of her life that Amelia felt had improved significantly since her father’s departure.
But of course, these girls hadn’t. They cared little about improving oneself and one’s knowledge. If it wasn’t expensive, shiny or luxurious, it wasn’t worth talking about. They flirted with various hobbies and interests – candle making had been the flavour of the season that day – but none of the girls stuck with anything long enough to be of any use. When Amelia had finally managed to bring up the topic of her own passion of fashion and dressmaking, they had smiled at her and feigned interest just long enough for her to realise that they simply weren’t interested. Or, even worse, they presumed Amelia’s interest was as temporary as their own.
Amelia realised that was why she was suddenly so interested in candle making; it was an attempt to rise herself up above her friends. She now saw them for what they truly were, what she had once been: silly girls, playing silly games hoping to win silly victories. Strip them of their jewels, their dresses or their families’ wealth and you have a helpless girl. A child.
Amelia had had to toughen up, to harden herself to survive in a world where that very luxury had been taken from her. The money she spent was what she herself had earned, and the joy she felt for buying things had been replaced by an even greater joy for making them. The couture dresses she wore were now of her own mind, or own hands. Even if it was just a handful of dresses, Amelia had made an impact on the world.
And so what if this newfound interest in candle making was little more than an attempt to better herself, in comparison to her friends? Surely the fact that she was trying to improving her knowledge and skills was a good thing, the ends greatly outweighing the means. This could be a new business, a side-line to her main focus of dress making. After all, Amelia had quite the eye for pretty things, aromas included.
Clarissa Montague was the same candle-making instructor that Amelia met last season at Maria’s baby shower. Thankfully, though, none of the other girls were with her, and instead Amelia sat amongst a group of kind-faced strangers. Most were women. Perhaps they were also trying to fill a void in their life with delicately scented wax?
“So, ladies and gentlemen, let’s begin.” Clarissa clapped her hands together to attract the attention of her mismatched students. Amelia lifted out a sheet of parchment and a quill, ready to play the dedicated student. “For those of you who do not know, candles can be made with several different types of wax. Beeswax, for example, is one of the most common thanks to how readily available it is. But beeswax candles do not hold fragrance well, nor colour, and so for today we will be using soybean wax.”
This was the same wax that Amelia had used in her previous lesson with Clarissa. If she remembered correctly, the wax was produced by heating raw soybeans to an incredibly high temperature after cracking and rolling the pods, producing soybean oil. The oil was then treated and cooled into a wax.
Much to her delight, Clarissa outlined this exact process next, holding up a small handful of raw soybeans. “Soybean wax is softer than others, but when combined with fragrance oils or colour, candles made of soybeans will burn slower than other waxes. Soybean is also an aromatically neutral, so there’s no competition for odour, either. This makes them a perfect wax for what we’ll be making today.”
Clarissa swept a hand across the table that separated her from her students. The table was filled with various glass jars that contained oils and a collection of dried flowers. “But first, we’ll need to make our fragrance oil to give our scented candles their scent. Please, go ahead and make your decision. Choose wisely!”
Ever since the disastrous reunion with her girl friends last season, Amelia had developed a newfound passion for candle making. It was strange; she had never shown an interest in the hobby before -- though granted she did appreciate a fine smelling candle as much as the next person. Perhaps it was thanks to the severe humiliation she had felt when she’d sat with those very same young women who had framed her childhood, feeling more out of place than she ever had done before.
They had all been so painfully stupid, gossiping and chirping away about pregnancies, engagements and late-night kisses with rich merchants. And not so long ago, Amelia would have been joining in with their petty competitions. In fact, she would have probably been winning. Amelia was gifted with an easy kind of confidence that she wore like a string of pearls; from the way she smiled, to the casual formality of her mannerisms. She been sculpted over the years – mainly by her own hands - to flow easily in almost any given social situation. This ease did not stop at silly competitions held by silly girls who wanted to validate their silly lives.
And yet that day, whilst they had been celebrating Maria’s fast-approaching due date, for the first time Amelia felt out of touch, separate from the rest of them. There had been too many sly looks and snide under-the-breath comments about her father’s adultery, which had left Amelia and her mother with significantly less wealth than the rest of her friends’ families. If their change in status had not been enough, the fact that her pig-of-a-father’s choice of whore lover had been one of Amelia’s close friends certainly made interesting gossip.
All of this had culminated in a horrifically painful evening wherein Amelia found herself the centre of pitying comments and awkward silences. Even now, the mere memory of her friend’s faux-sad faces and pouted bottom lips made her skin crawl.
But that evening had resulted in something else other than humiliation. Amelia had walked away from her gaggle of friends feeling as much pity for them as they no doubt felt for her. Beyond their husbands or their squealing infant children, they had relatively little to give the world. Throughout the evening, she had longed for her friends to ask about her sewing and fashion design – the single aspect of her life that Amelia felt had improved significantly since her father’s departure.
But of course, these girls hadn’t. They cared little about improving oneself and one’s knowledge. If it wasn’t expensive, shiny or luxurious, it wasn’t worth talking about. They flirted with various hobbies and interests – candle making had been the flavour of the season that day – but none of the girls stuck with anything long enough to be of any use. When Amelia had finally managed to bring up the topic of her own passion of fashion and dressmaking, they had smiled at her and feigned interest just long enough for her to realise that they simply weren’t interested. Or, even worse, they presumed Amelia’s interest was as temporary as their own.
Amelia realised that was why she was suddenly so interested in candle making; it was an attempt to rise herself up above her friends. She now saw them for what they truly were, what she had once been: silly girls, playing silly games hoping to win silly victories. Strip them of their jewels, their dresses or their families’ wealth and you have a helpless girl. A child.
Amelia had had to toughen up, to harden herself to survive in a world where that very luxury had been taken from her. The money she spent was what she herself had earned, and the joy she felt for buying things had been replaced by an even greater joy for making them. The couture dresses she wore were now of her own mind, or own hands. Even if it was just a handful of dresses, Amelia had made an impact on the world.
And so what if this newfound interest in candle making was little more than an attempt to better herself, in comparison to her friends? Surely the fact that she was trying to improving her knowledge and skills was a good thing, the ends greatly outweighing the means. This could be a new business, a side-line to her main focus of dress making. After all, Amelia had quite the eye for pretty things, aromas included.
Clarissa Montague was the same candle-making instructor that Amelia met last season at Maria’s baby shower. Thankfully, though, none of the other girls were with her, and instead Amelia sat amongst a group of kind-faced strangers. Most were women. Perhaps they were also trying to fill a void in their life with delicately scented wax?
“So, ladies and gentlemen, let’s begin.” Clarissa clapped her hands together to attract the attention of her mismatched students. Amelia lifted out a sheet of parchment and a quill, ready to play the dedicated student. “For those of you who do not know, candles can be made with several different types of wax. Beeswax, for example, is one of the most common thanks to how readily available it is. But beeswax candles do not hold fragrance well, nor colour, and so for today we will be using soybean wax.”
This was the same wax that Amelia had used in her previous lesson with Clarissa. If she remembered correctly, the wax was produced by heating raw soybeans to an incredibly high temperature after cracking and rolling the pods, producing soybean oil. The oil was then treated and cooled into a wax.
Much to her delight, Clarissa outlined this exact process next, holding up a small handful of raw soybeans. “Soybean wax is softer than others, but when combined with fragrance oils or colour, candles made of soybeans will burn slower than other waxes. Soybean is also an aromatically neutral, so there’s no competition for odour, either. This makes them a perfect wax for what we’ll be making today.”
Clarissa swept a hand across the table that separated her from her students. The table was filled with various glass jars that contained oils and a collection of dried flowers. “But first, we’ll need to make our fragrance oil to give our scented candles their scent. Please, go ahead and make your decision. Choose wisely!”
