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MidReal Story
The Girl In The Painting
Scenario:Describe in vivid detail a story set in the 1890s about an upper-class boy who is forced to live as a girl. He is made to wear a chemise, drawers, corset, corset cover, and many petticoats, learning the ways of being a girl until the man of the house arranges his marriage. Over time, he forgets his old life as a boy, fully immersing himself in his new identity as a woman. Delve deep into the process of his transformation, exploring the emotions, struggles, and experiences he goes through as he becomes someone entirely different.
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Thomas
living in Paris in the 1890s. He is curious, adaptable, and introspective. Thomas is forced by his aunt to disguise himself as a girl due to a medical condition making him appear feminine. He learns to navigate life in female attire, experiencing both freedom and constraints. As he grows up, he forms close bonds with his new "sisters" and awaits his coming of age, when he will be sent to marry for familial gain.
Aunt Louise
determined, and authoritative. She disguises Thomas as a girl to protect him from an unwanted marriage arranged by her late husband's family. Her strict rules and emphasis on Thomas's education shape his upbringing. Though initially seen as harsh, she genuinely cares for Thomas and ensures his safety and wellbeing, even going so far as to teach him how to defend himself physically.
Aurélien
chosen by his family for financial reasons. He is stern, traditional, and ambitious. Aurélien comes from a wealthy background and is expected to continue his family’s business interests. His initial encounter with Thomas is formal and distant, reflecting his focus on duty rather than personal connections. Despite their arranged marriage, there is potential for mutual respect once Aurélien comes of age and takes on his responsibilities fully.
It was the 1890s.
I was five years old.
I had just been forced to wear a chemise, drawers, a corset, a corset cover, and three petticoats.
I had never worn so many clothes in my life.
And all because I had been forced to become a girl.
My new shoes were the worst.
They pinched my toes and made it difficult to walk.
I stumbled down the stairs and out the front door of our new home, holding tightly to the banister for support.
The fresh air felt good on my face after being inside all morning.
I looked down at my new clothes and sighed.
I didn’t mind wearing pants so much less, but I did mind all these layers of clothing.
And my feet!
I stumbled again and fell down the last two steps.
I sat down on the bottom step, not caring that I was going to get in trouble for sitting on the floor instead of standing like a proper lady.
Aunt Louise stood over me, looking stern.
"Get up, Thomas," she said, her voice firm but not unkind.
"I can’t," I said, looking up at her with tears in my eyes.
"I can’t walk in these shoes."
Aunt Louise sighed and sat down next to me on the step.
Gripping the rough stone step with both hands, I pushed myself up shakily.
My ankles wobbled in the unfamiliar shoes as Aunt Louise steadied my elbow.
The petticoats rustled and shifted around my legs, making it even harder to balance.
I took tiny steps, mimicking how I had seen Marie walk.
The corset dug into my ribs with each movement.
Aunt Louise guided me along the path, one hand hovering behind my back in case I stumbled again.
When I did, she caught me before I fell.
"Small steps," she instructed, demonstrating the proper way to walk.
"Heel to toe, like this."
With each careful step, I gained more control over my movements.
The petticoats no longer tangled around my legs as badly when I kept my steps short and deliberate.
Aunt Louise demonstrated again, showing how to place one foot directly in front of the other.
I mimicked her movements, watching my feet intently.
The corset forced me to keep my back straight, which helped with balance.
When I made it from one end of the hallway to the other without stumbling, Aunt Louise gave me an approving nod.
Marie clapped from the doorway, urging me to try again.
"Why do I have to be a girl, Aunt Louise?" I asked, my voice trembling with frustration.
Aunt Louise paused, her eyes softening as she looked at me.
"Because, Thomas," she said gently, "it's the only way to keep you safe from those who would harm you."
I practice walking back and forth across the drawing room while Aunt Louise watches from her armchair.
She corrects my posture and reminds me to keep my spine straight.
The corset forces me to do so, anyway, but I concentrate on each step.
My ankles still wobble when I try to move faster, but I’m learning to shift my weight smoothly between feet.
Marie demonstrates how to hold my arms naturally at my sides, not stiffly like a soldier.
When I successfully complete three lengths of the room without stumbling, Aunt Louise gives me a small smile.
I straighten my back further and continue practicing my steps.
I sit at my dressing table while Aunt Louise places the white bonnet on my head.
The silk ribbons dangle past my shoulders, and she guides my fingers to grasp them.
"Cross them under your chin," she instructs, "then bring them up to tie a bow."
My first attempt is clumsy.
I pull the ribbons too tight, and the bonnet tips forward over my eyes.
Marie giggles from her perch on my bed.
I readjust the ribbons with trembling fingers and try again.
This time, the bow comes undone as soon as I release the ribbons.
Aunt Louise demonstrates again, showing me how to make a proper loop with each ribbon.
My fingers tremble as I work with the ribbons for what feels like the hundredth time.
I cross the ends carefully, making the first loop exactly as Aunt Louise showed me.
Marie watches silently now, her earlier laughter replaced by concentration.
I pull the second ribbon through, keeping it loose enough to shape properly.
When I tug the loops into place, they form even circles on either side of a neat center knot.
The bow sits perfectly under my chin, neither too tight nor too loose.
Aunt Louise nods approvingly, and for the first time, I feel a flicker of hope.
I hold the silver-framed mirror with both hands, tilting it to examine the bow beneath my chin.
The white silk ribbons look neat and symmetrical, just like when Aunt Louise ties them.
My reflection shows a small face framed by the bonnet's ruffled brim, dark curls peeking out at the sides.
The mirror trembles slightly in my grip as I turn my head from side to side, studying how the ribbons move.
When I catch Marie's eye in the mirror, she gives me an encouraging smile.
I stand up from the dressing table, smoothing my petticoats with trembling hands.
The accomplishment of tying the bonnet ribbons gives me the courage to try walking in my full outfit.
My heeled shoes click against the wooden floor as I take measured steps toward the door.
I keep my spine straight, just as Aunt Louise taught me, to avoid straining the corset.
The layers of my skirts swish with each careful movement.
I pause at the threshold and glance back at Aunt Louise for reassurance.
"Do you think Mother would have been proud?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Aunt Louise's eyes soften, and she nods, "She would have been overjoyed to see you like this, ready for your debut."
Marie chimes in, her tone teasing yet warm, "And she'd probably remind you not to trip over those skirts on your way out."
I walk down the hallway toward the front parlor, focusing on keeping my steps even and controlled.
The weight of my petticoats feels more natural now, though I still have to concentrate on not letting them tangle around my ankles.
When I reach the parlor doorway, I pause to adjust my bonnet and smooth my skirts one last time.
Through the partially open door, I can hear unfamiliar voices - guests have arrived.
My heart races as I realize this will be my first time meeting strangers in my new identity.
Marie leans closer, whispering with a hint of mischief, "Remember, you're Lady Eleanor now, not just our little Eliza."
I swallow hard, trying to steady my nerves, "What if they see through me, Marie?"
Aunt Louise steps forward, her voice firm yet gentle, "They won't, because you are every bit the lady your mother raised you to be."
I place my gloved hand on the brass doorknob, feeling its cool surface through the thin fabric.
The voices inside grow clearer - two women discussing the latest Paris fashions.
My corset keeps my posture rigid as I turn the handle with deliberate slowness.
The heavy door creaks slightly, drawing attention as I push it open.
Sunlight streams through the parlor windows, illuminating the dust motes in the air.
I focus on keeping my steps small and measured as I enter, my petticoats swishing against the doorframe.
The conversation stops.
Two unfamiliar faces turn to study me.
I take a deep breath and focus on keeping my back straight as I learned.
My right foot slides back behind my left, toes pointed outward just as Marie demonstrated countless times.
Bending my knees slowly, I lower myself while holding my skirts out slightly with trembling fingers.
The corset helps maintain my posture as I dip down, though my ankles wobble slightly in the heeled shoes.
Looking up through my lashes, I meet the ladies' eyes and say in my practiced soft voice, "Good afternoon. I am Lady Eleanor."
One of the women, with a kind smile, responds, "Good afternoon, Lady Eleanor. We've heard much about your grace and charm."
The other woman, her eyes sharp and assessing, adds, "Indeed, and we're eager to see if you live up to your mother's legacy."
I feel my cheeks warm but manage a composed nod, replying, "I hope I can honor her memory and meet your expectations."
I walk carefully toward the empty chair near the window, focusing on keeping my steps small and even as my petticoats sway.
The older woman's eyes follow my movement, scrutinizing how I handle my skirts.
When I reach the chair, I gather my petticoats with both hands and lower myself slowly, remembering Aunt Louise's lessons about sitting properly.
My corset prevents me from slumping as I arrange my skirts around me, smoothing them over my knees.
I reach for the delicate porcelain teapot with trembling hands, conscious of the women's scrutinizing gazes.
The weight of the full pot strains my wrists as I carefully position it over the first cup.
Hot tea streams steadily into the cup, and I manage not to spill a drop.
The older woman nods slightly in approval as I serve her first, following proper etiquette.
Moving to the second cup, my corset restricts my breathing as I lean forward, but I maintain my composure.
The tea flows smoothly, and as I finish pouring, I realize their judgment is just beginning.
I hold the delicate sugar bowl in my trembling hands, waiting for her response.
The older woman peers at me over the rim of her teacup, her eyes never leaving mine.
My corset digs into my ribs as I maintain perfect posture.
I try to remember every lesson Aunt Louise taught me about proper tea service, but my mind goes blank.
The silver tongs clink against the edge of the sugar bowl as I hover them above the cubes.
A bead of sweat forms under my bonnet, but I keep my expression pleasant and composed.
I hold my breath as I extend the sugar bowl toward the older woman, my arm trembling slightly from the weight.
She examines my posture and grip on the bowl before giving a slight nod.
Relief floods through me, but I force myself to maintain composure as I turn to serve the next guest.
The corset digs into my ribs as I pivot, careful not to let the sugar cubes rattle.
My petticoats brush against the tea table while I move to the next chair.
"Do you know why you're really here, my dear?" the older woman asks, her voice smooth yet probing.
I hesitate, unsure of how much to reveal, before replying softly, "Aunt Louise said it was important for me to learn proper etiquette."
The woman leans forward slightly, a knowing smile playing on her lips, "It's not just about etiquette; it's about preparing you for what comes next in our family."
I lean forward in my chair, careful not to let my petticoats brush against the table.
The older woman sets her teacup down delicately before speaking.
"Your mother went through this very same training when she was your age. It's a tradition passed down through generations of women in our family."
She pauses, studying me intently.
"We attend elaborate balls and parties, where connections are made and futures are secured. It's a world of elegance and refinement."
I nod, intrigued by her words, but my stomach tightens with uncertainty.
The woman reaches into her reticule and pulls out a small, leather-bound book.
She extends it toward me with a knowing smile.
"This contains the rules and customs that have guided our family's women for generations. It's time for you to learn them as well."
I accept the book, feeling the weight of expectation settle heavily in my lap.
I sit alone in my bedroom, the leather-bound book balanced on my knees.
I adjust the layers of petticoats beneath my skirt before opening the cover.
The worn leather feels smooth under my fingers as I turn to the first page.
The yellowed paper bears elegant handwriting, with notes and annotations filling the margins.
Generations of women have added their thoughts and insights to these pages, leaving behind a legacy of tradition and expectation.
I lean forward, my corset forcing me to maintain perfect posture as I read the faded ink.
The first entry details the requirements for proper morning dress, including the number of petticoats to be worn and the precise measurements for a lady's corset.
There are rules for different occasions, from breakfast to dinner parties, and guidelines for appropriate behavior in each setting.
As I read, a soft knock interrupts my thoughts, and Aunt Louise enters the room.
"Ah, I see you've started with the book," she says, her eyes scanning the open pages.
I look up, curiosity piqued, "Aunt Louise, is this really how you lived your life?"
She smiles wistfully and takes a seat on the edge of my bed.
"Yes, my dear, this book holds the secrets of our family's past. Let me tell you about my first ball."
She gently takes the book from my lap and turns to a page filled with intricate drawings of ladies' fans and gloves.
She traces her fingers over the illustrations as she speaks, "It was a grand affair, with ladies dressed in their finest gowns. I remember wearing a blue silk dress with pearl buttons and delicate lace trim."
I lean forward, fascinated by her story.
"The ballroom was dimly lit by candles, casting mysterious shadows across the walls. The ladies whispered behind their fans, sharing confidences and gossip as they twirled across the dance floor."
The corset digs into my ribs as I lean closer, eager to hear more.
"Did you meet someone special at that ball?"
I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Aunt Louise chuckles softly before replying, "Oh, my dear, it was not quite so simple. Our world is filled with intricate rules and expectations. A lady must always be mindful of her actions and the consequences they may bring."
I nod intently, understanding the weight of her words.
"And what about romance?" she asks, a mischievous glint in her eye.
I blush slightly before answering, "I've always wondered how love fits into all of this." Aunt Louise leans forward, her voice taking on a conspiratorial tone.
"Ah, my dear, love can be both a blessing and a curse. In our world, it is not always easy to follow one's heart. There are obligations to consider, alliances to form, and reputations to protect."
I listen intently as she continues to speak.
"But that does not mean there is no room for romance. Oh no, there are ways to express oneself without crossing the boundaries of propriety."
She pauses for a moment before adding, "And that is where the language of fans comes into play."
I look down at the illustrations in the book once again.
"The language of fans?"
I ask curiously.
"Yes," Aunt Louise replies with a knowing smile.
"It is an art form passed down through generations of women in our family. A way to convey messages without words."
I touch the pages reverently, feeling a sense of connection to those who have come before me.
"And will you teach me this language?" she asks gently.
Aunt Louise reaches out and squeezes my hand reassuringly.
"Yes, my dear, it's time you learn the secrets that have bound our family together for centuries."
I sit on my bed, tugging at the corset that feels suffocating in the June heat.
The layers of my chemise, drawers, and petticoats cling to my body, making every movement feel like a struggle.
I can feel sweat trickling down my back, dampening the fabric of my undergarments.
"Aunt Louise, I can't breathe in this," I complain, my voice muffled by the layers of clothing.
She enters the room with a stern expression on her face.
"Remember, a proper lady always maintains her full dress," she reminds me.
"But it's so hot outside," I protest, fanning myself with my hand.
Aunt Louise shakes her head disapprovingly.
"The weather is of no consequence. You must learn to endure any situation with grace and composure."
I sigh in resignation and allow her to help me adjust my corset strings.
She tighten them sproviding a bit of relief while still maintaining the proper silhouette.
"There," she says, stepping back to examine her handiwork.
"You should be able to breathe more easily now." I nod in appreciation as she helps me straighten my wilting skirts.
The room feels stuffy and claustrophobic, but I know better than to complain again.
"Aunt Louise," I say hesitantly, "why do I need so many petticoats?"
She looks at me incredulously.
"Why? Because it's expected of you, that's why. A lady always wears multiple petticoats to maintain the proper shape and modesty."
"But they're so hot," I protest weakly.
Aunt Louise ignores my complaint and continues adjusting my clothing.
"Each petticoat serves a purpose," she explains patiently.
"The first one provides a smooth layer against your skin. The second adds volume and shape. And the third creates a stiffened silhouette that maintains its form even when you move."
I watch silently as she expertly arranges the layers of fabric around me.
When she finishes, I look in the mirror and barely recognize myself.
I shift uncomfortably in my layers of clothing, feeling an urgent need to use the bathroom.
"Aunt Louise, I need to use the washroom," I say, hoping she'll understand my distress.
She leads me to the private washroom connected to my bedroom and begins explaining the process.
"You must gather your petticoats carefully, making sure not to let them touch the floor," she instructs.
I watch as she demonstrates how to hold the layers bunched at my sides.
The corset makes it difficult to bend, so she shows me how to adjust my position without compromising my posture.
I grip my petticoats in both hands, bunching the layers carefully at my sides as she demonstrated.
The corset makes it difficult to bend, so I keep my back straight while gathering each layer - chemise, drawers, and three petticoats.
Standing in the hallway, I check that no fabric touches the floor before taking small steps toward the washroom.
The swishing sounds echo against the walls as I walk.
I close the washroom door behind me, my petticoats rustling against the wooden frame.
The small room feels cramped with all my layers of clothing.
Following Aunt Louise's instructions, I carefully gather my outer skirt, then each petticoat, holding them bunched at my sides.
The corset digs into my ribs as I try to maneuver.
My hands shake while adjusting the drawers, afraid of dropping the other layers.
When I hear footsteps in the hall, I freeze, terrified someone might enter.
My trembling fingers fumble with the brass lock while holding my bunched petticoats.
The metal mechanism clicks into place just as more footsteps echo down the hall.
I lean against the door, heart pounding, as my corset digs into my ribs.
The rustling of my gathered skirts seems deafening in the small space.
Through the heavy wooden door, I hear Marie's voice asking if I need help.
I whisper back that I'm managing, though my arms ache from holding up the layers of fabric.
"Are you sure you're alright in there?" Marie's voice is tinged with concern.
"Yes, just trying to remember everything Aunt Louise showed me," I reply, my voice shaky.
"Well, hurry up; there's something important we need to discuss," she says, urgency creeping into her tone.
I gather my petticoats and drawers back into place, checking each layer as Aunt Louise taught me.
The corset makes it hard to bend, so I twist awkwardly to smooth everything down.
My fingers work at re-fastening the small buttons on my drawers while sweat forms under my chemise.
Once all layers are in order, I unlock the door with trembling hands.
Marie stands waiting, and I step into the hall.
Her eyes meet mine, and I know everything is about to change.
I exit the washroom, still adjusting my petticoats, when Marie grabs my arm.
Why are you not ready to go
I sit at my dressing table, struggling to tie the corset strings.
The tightness makes it hard to breathe.
Marie enters my room, her expression serious.
I quickly explain that I need her help with my homework.
She notices my difficulty with the corset and steps forward to help, her hands deftly pulling the laces tight.
As she works, I ask about the important matter she mentioned earlier.
Marie hesitates before revealing that we are expected to attend a social event tonight.
My heart sinks at the thought of navigating another public appearance in these constricting clothes.
Marie helps me finish dressing, smoothing my petticoats and adjusting my bonnet.
I sit at my dressing table while Marie makes the final adjustments to my outfit for the evening.
My hands shake as I attempt to tie my bonnet ribbons again, but the bow keeps coming undone.
The corset feels especially tight tonight, making each breath shallow and quick.
Marie notices my nervousness and demonstrates the proper ribbon technique one more time, her fingers moving deliberately so I can follow along.
With a deep breath, I nod to Marie, ready to face whatever awaits us beyond the door.
I stand in the foyer, adjusting my bonnet one final time while Marie checks that my petticoats hang evenly.
The tight corset forces me to maintain perfect posture as I pull on my white gloves.
Through the front windows, I see carriages rolling past and ladies in evening dress walking with their escorts.
My hands shake as I smooth my skirts, but Marie squeezes my arm reassuringly.
When Aunt Louise appears to inspect my appearance, she nods approval and opens the heavy front door.
"There's something you need to know before we leave," Marie whispers, glancing nervously at Aunt Louise.
"What is it, Marie?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper as I sense the urgency in her tone.
"The man you're to meet tonight... he's not who he claims to be," she confesses, her eyes wide with concern.