Eliza In The Flesh!: face to face.

Eliza’s had enough adventures to know that this was probably not the weirdest one. She rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating before looking back at Vector, wide eyed. “So she’s real?!” She whisper-shouted from behind a stack of hay bales. Vector shrugged. “You tell me. She sounds like you, she… has the same face? I guess… And she—uh. Maybe she’s the same height? I dunno…”

 

To her left, Darling scoffed. “She looks nothing like you! Y’know, pretty, modest, and smart? Are you sure that’s not a regular farmer girl?” Eliza bit her lip, but they were right to be doubtful. The farmer girl they were watching was wrapped in the equivalent of rags carrying a pail of pig’s food with her. Her eyes were a soft shade of brown, her lashes were not as prominent, and her hair was a wavy, thinner, (and uglier) chocolate color.

 

Compared to Eliza—who was adorned in silks of red, and an elegant corset, hair an incredibly yellow hue of blonde, and eyes an electric blue—the two looked drastically different. “Farmer Eliza’s” jaw was uneven, her nose not quite centered, and her lips dry and chapped. She, herself, would consider them as separate people if it weren’t for one tiny inconvenience. She had to double back to make sure she was seeing things properly, then panicked and dragged her two companion dead weights behind the nearest hiding place.

 

Eliza had seen her reflection enough times to know that the Eliza in surveillance was, without a doubt, an even truer version than herself. She was more “Eliza” than her, because she had kept her likeness. Don’t get her wrong, “Rich Eliza” was not insecure, but there wasn’t anything exciting about brown hair, brown eyes, and slightly crooked jaws. She wasn’t sure if “Farmer Eliza” saw herself the same way and simply did not have the resources to find a solution, or if it was merely the fault of her own nature that set these two apart. Perhaps if it were not for her meddling, the alternate would be able to look at her face and stare in confusion.

 

“Go talk to her,” Eliza hissed at Vector who glanced at her with a look of pure confusion. “Tell her you're a blacksmith!” His pleas and attempts at reasoning were thrown to the dust as she pushed him out there, catching the farmer’s attention. He had no choice but to act on a whim, though he did manage to mouth some choice words before turning to face the alternate. Darling and her watched from afar, observing the scene like an audience in a play.

 

“Uhm… hi,” he tried to lean against the stack of hay bales in an effort to make himself seem more casual. Instead, it made him look like an idiot. Now the contrasts between the two Elizas would be shown through character. For her, personally, she would respond to this sort of behavior with a call to the guards to cut off his head. This Eliza, however, smiled sweetly.

 

She had never felt so… repulsed. She felt as if she had stolen her face and twisted it into something unfamiliar.

 

Darling noticed her mannerisms and grinned, showing her bare teeth and gums. “Hello,” the face stealing Eliza greeted. “Sorry, I just… I wa— I was trying to… travel. Back. To my workshop,” Vector lied and ceased any further attempt at leaning on the hay bales. “Are you a blacksmith?” She asked, placing down her bucket and frantically brushing off any dirt on her to the best of her abilities.

 

“I… yes. I work with metals. And make… metal.” Darling let out an inaudible scream as she buried her face into her hands. Her reaction earned a slight (slight, mind you) smile from her. Vector’s ears turned a slight shade of pink the more he continued his story. To Eliza, she could tell from a mile away that this pathetic man was a liar. To the other Eliza, she seemed to take it very differently as her face, too, turned a slight tone of red.

 

Now it was Eliza who was silently screaming in anguish, and Darling who was suppressing her laugh.

 

Thankfully, Vector seemed none the wiser, presumably too caught up in trying to fabricate his story to notice. “I would love to be a blacksmith. Beats being on a farm. Do you get to live in the city?” She shot question after question. Now it was a battle of words. “Er… yes…” he said, and the other Eliza twirled her dress.

“Oh, I’d love to go to the city! Many are fancy with their gowns, and coats. Perhaps even find a prince to carry me to a castle!” She swooned. Darling snorted a little too loud. Eliza smacked her shoulder, but damn, her muscles were rock hard. Other Eliza faltered slightly.

“Sorry. You’re probably too busy to be caught up with a poor girl like I,” she flushed with embarrassment, slightly turning away.

 

“No! No, It’s fine… It’s good to have dreams,” Vector said. “Better than having none at all.” That last bit felt targeted. “I suppose you’re right,” she picked up her pail again, almost dreamily. “Well. Bye!” Vector waved and he jumped into the hay bales, earning a puzzled expression from Eliza’s doppelganger.

 

***

 

Elizabeth Lowery blinked before she registered what happened. The handsome blacksmith had seemingly disappeared from behind the hay bales. “I never got your name,” she whispered, grazing her fingers over the stack. Alas, her poor heart was filled with unreachable desires, but the true difference—the one the duchess did not account for— was exactly what the farmer detested. Longing, ambition, desire. She had dreams whereas the other did not. Elizabeth hated her wanting, hated her dreaming because it could not satisfy her enough. But she could feel nuance, victory, accomplishment because she has felt shame, defeat, failure. Eliza—with all her gold, servants, and nobility—has none of it.