Unequal marriage - continuation (Patreon)

Story start: https://www.patreon.com/posts/61632996

Three days had passed since my abrupt arrival, and my attempts to escape this unfamiliar time had been in vain. Each day seemed to tighten the grip of my predicament. The grandeur of the estate had become my gilded cage, and the weight of the dresses and corsets pressed upon me like an unrelenting burden.

On this particular day, I found myself clad in a gray-brown dress, its fabric heavy and cumbersome. The tight corset, fastened around my waist, constricted my breathing, each breath a struggle against its unforgiving embrace. The dress, with its voluminous layers, hindered every step, making each movement an awkward dance through the intricate web of fabric.

My reflection in the ornate mirror only intensified my discomfort. The woman who had been guiding me since my arrival stood beside me, her stern expression accentuating the gravity of my situation.

"You must understand, my dear," she spoke in Russian, her voice measured and authoritative. "You are now part of a distinguished family. It is your duty to uphold the reputation and honor of the house. You will attend social gatherings, entertain guests, and bear the responsibilities befitting a woman of your station."

I bit my lip, trying to suppress the frustration welling up within me. The words felt like chains, binding me to a life I had not chosen. The discomfort of the dress seemed to mirror my internal turmoil.

"But I am not of this time, nor am I this person," I protested, my voice trembling with a mix of fear and defiance.

The woman's eyes narrowed, and she responded with a cold authority, "You will adapt. The honor of our family depends on it. Your reluctance will be perceived as weakness, and we cannot afford such vulnerabilities."

I sighed, feeling the weight of the expectations thrust upon me. As she continued to instruct me on the intricacies of social etiquette and the demands of my newfound role, I yearned for the simplicity of the modern world I had left behind.

Late one evening, as I struggled with the laces of yet another corset, the woman entered the room. Her gaze was stern, yet there was a hint of something resembling sympathy.

"You must embrace your role with grace," she insisted. "The sooner you accept your fate, the easier it will be for everyone."

I nodded, though the sentiment brought me little solace. In the privacy of my thoughts, I yearned for a way to return to my time, to shed the weight of the dresses and the expectations that threatened to suffocate me. Every glance in the mirror served as a stark reminder of the strangeness of my appearance—the tightness of the corset pressing against my breasts, the unfamiliar hairstyle framing my face, and the weight of women's jewelry that adorned me.

However, every attempt to share my story of being a person from the future, particularly a man, was met with disbelief and skepticism. No one in this time believed my tale, dismissing it as the fanciful imaginings of a troubled mind. The isolation of my predicament weighed heavily on me, and the journey back to the future seemed an impossible dream in a world that refused to acknowledge the truth of my existence.