1. Yes, but I'll try to phrase it nicely.
From Create Your Own Story
You feel like you’re playing with fire, but eventually you speak up. “Nan,” you begin, little hesitance in your voice. “Is everything quite alright?” You catch her eyes through the mirror, and you are struck by how dull and tired she looks. “You seem a bit out of sorts. Is there anything you need?”
The affect of your words is instantaneous. Nan stops moving the comb, and, continuing to look at her through the mirror’s reflection, you note that her face has gone slack. In all your years, you have never seen your Nan at a loss for words. Seeing her with such a blank expression nearly chills you to the bone. After a second, the color begins to return to her cheeks. “No, I’m fine.” Nan says quietly. “Of course I don’t need anything. I’m fine.” She repeats more fiercely.
The moment is gone as quickly as it came. In fact, after awhile, you begin to wonder if you’d imagined it. But then you feel the new softness in Nan’s touch, and observe the fargone look in her eyes. You know that what you had seen was no fantasy.
Ten minutes later, your mother walks in, and you’ve never been happier to see her— that is, until you see what she’s brought with her. She has a very pleased expression on her haughty face. Her eyes glow with an uncommon light as she beckons in the maid behind her. The maid is weighed down by a heavy, fluffy gown. Your mother motions for her to hold the dress in front of you for better viewing. The dress is extremely out of fashion—in fact, you’re unsure if such a creation was ever in fashion. The skirt resembles a bell and begins at the hips (ladies of the court have been wearing nothing but slim, often empire-styled dresses for the past decade, and even before that the styles had not been quite so… voluminous). The sleeves are just as puffed as the skirt, the lace is yellowed, and the entire ensemble exudes a strange, archaic odor. You reason this could only have belonged to your great great great grandmother. You hope your mother isn’t expecting you to wear this fossil. “Oh, I was right! The green simply looks lovely against your hair. Don’t you agree Mathilde?” she says to the maid. Mathilde nods, but you catch the slight twitch of her mouth. It is an awful dress. Even the help thinks so.
Your mother turns to you, smiling wanly. “I wore this dress when I was young, as did your grandmother.” She sighs and rests her bejeweled hand on her stomach, “I don’t believe I could so much as fit my arm into it now. But you’ll look lovely in it tonight.” Your eyes meet, “Won’t you darling?”
The dress is horrendous. What do you do?
