Is That A Light?

I am *so* happy to report that Eleanor I revamp project is three-quarter done! I have a few days off up my sleeve for a super-long weekend coming up and I am hoping (if my brain would cooperate) to finish it. The light is just a speckle at the moment, but hopefully, by Friday night at least, I could see a shaft coming through.

In the meantime, I realised that I've been talking so much about Eleanor and not given a taste of who she is or what she's like. So this is an excerpt of the very first section of Eleanor I.

Eleanor lifted her skirt higher, took two steps back, cocked her head to one side to judge the distance, ran up and leapt, groaning inwardly as she felt the heel of her buckskin shoes sank onto the pot hole, splashing the murky, brown-coloured muddy water all around the bottom hem of the layers.
She slowed her pace almost to a halt, eyes bulging out to see the grandeur of the Palace standing majestically in front of her. She had seen it before, of course; both in passing, and from a much further distance, as she hurried to the neighbouring village market, as well as from fifty yards away, neck craned, eyes straining to catch a glimpse of the procession when the Queen passed to eternal life twelve years ago. But still, the sight of the light-grey cobblestone exterior, rumoured to be housing close to three-hundred rooms, made more impressive by the radiant mid-morning sunlight showering upon the building they shone almost white, reminded her of the vision she held in her mind of our Saviour’s Kingdom of Heaven.
She leapt to one side of the Main Gate like a trained cat upon hearing the sounds of rumbling wheels and the uniformed clocking hooves of several horses, in time to see the Royal carriage jostling through, her gaze following its movement until it turned round the bend and disappeared from her view.
The sharp edge of the envelope inside her pocket stabbing her outer thigh through the pocket of her skirt returned her attention to the reason she had ventured to the Palace in the first place. She weaved her way through the buzzing crowd toing and froing around the Main Courtyard, contemplating bolting out in the other direction with each reluctant step she took, feeling utterly out of place, even though she knew she had no choice; there was no one else currently available to do the task that has been entrusted to her.
She approached a group of ladies-in-waiting huddling together in one corner near the main entrance, momentarily admiring the rich, vibrant colours of silk and damask dresses they were wearing, with décolletage so low and corset so tight she was expecting some of their plump breasts to pop free at any given moment; the string of round, marble-white pearls, brilliant gold-chained necklaces with ruby, emerald and diamond gemstones, some of them half-the-size of her fist hanging in-between their bosoms winking against the sunlight, briefly blinding her eyes.
“Ah... excuse me,” she said, her voice small and frightful, sidling close to a friendly-looking oval-faced girl, no more than eighteen, her skin so pale it provided a stark contrast to her lovely curled chestnut hair.
The girl examined Eleanor from head to toe, noting, with a slight envy, the graceful appearance of the slender eighteen-year-old woman in front of her; her square face was framed by thick, wavy auburn hair that stretched to her waist; her pair of striking eyes the colour of deep blue sea it could search deep within your soul; her nose long-boned and delicate, inviting anyone who caught sight of it to pinch it lightly in-between index and middle fingers; her lips thin and small, a natural complexion of light pink peeping shyly from the mass of porcelain-coloured skin, a contrast to the set of high cheekbones which gave the air of confidence in her feature.
The girl’s toffee-coloured eyes popped out in horror upon casting a glance at her mud-stained skirt she whipped the billowing fold of her pale blue silk garment instinctively, shrinking away towards the others, glaring at Eleanor as if she was about to infect the pristine-looking girl with pox that Eleanor, adding disheartened to the already uncomfortable feeling, simply rolled her eyes upward and marched straight through the Main Entrance, not daring to approach another human being.
She was rooted to the spot two steps in, mouth agape, eyes darting from one side of the seemingly endless length corridor to the other. If the outer view of the Palace gave the aura of heavenly, the interior certainly embodied the word... ‘regal’; the royal family emblem bearing a red-furred, white-chested fox, its noose tilted up as if it was trying to greedily consume all the fresh air, the two front paws balancing on a golden celestial globe, printed on a midnight blue shimmery satin banner, stood proud and majestic near the top of the eighteen-foot Cathedral ceiling, adorning the white-and-brass-gilded columns.
She strolled along the corridor, aware of the swishing of her skirt, the soles of her shoes, with a cake of dried mud on one heel, sinking to the plush, thick velvet red carpet she was tempted to bend down and ran her palm over the soft, smooth material; the only thing preventing her from getting down on all fours was the constant reminder that it was the most undignified pose to be caught at in such a glamorous place.
That is, if anyone ever sets eyes on you, she thought, the total quietness of the place raising the hairs on the back of her neck.