The Curtains Rise at the Seamstress’s
Satin glossier than a shimmering lake; velvet that threatened to swallow you whole; silk flowing more freely than water; linen to bring the mind home with its earthy tones; cotton softer than the clouds dyed in every hue; wool as warm as it was lustrous; lace so transparent it was frightening; beads strung into dazzling accessories; and frills, which were the absolutely essential cherry on top.
The fitting room was the crystallization of all that a young girl might adore, but one young girl couldn’t help but find herself terribly bored. She didn’t care about the satin cloth that sparkled like candy drops on her shoulder, nor the pleasant chill of the silk wrapping around her thigh, nor even the mysterious see-through fabric that she didn’t understand how anyone could make. None of it really mattered to her.
I wonder why they all care so much.
“Augh... Too...precious! I could pass on right this very instant!”
“Lady Leizniz, stay with us! But...you do have a point. She’s incredible!”
“Ohh, and look at this little face of hers! It says, ‘I don’t get it,’ plain and square. Cute! And! Cuter!”
Elisa was in the northern parts of Berylin reserved for the upper crust, in a clothing store that turned away all but the highest of upturned noses, sitting in a lavish chair as she vacantly stared at the women putting their peculiar hobbies on display.
Seamstresses though they were, each commanded the highest dialect of palatial speech as naturally as they breathed; these were no mere journeymen. Not only did they possess technical skill and an eye for fashion, but all of them had been hand-picked with consideration to their peerage and character. In fact, among the handful of humanfolk were some immortals—one could scarcely expect to see such a person working needles in a city outside the Empire, capitals included.
The patron in the center of the room who’d buried her face in her hands out of emotional overload was a few shades more translucent than usual. Let us hide nothing: here squirmed the founder and continued leader of the Empire’s foremost pillar of magecraft, the Leizniz cadre of Daybreak.
Not even an imperial princess could expect to have all of these fine ladies wait on her so. Seeing Elisa’s treatment would drive all the women of the Empire to chew straight through their handkerchiefs in envy, but the changeling felt not an ounce of joy atop the throne where they had placed her.
Her outfit had been suddenly made to order upon reporting that she was going to the festival, and she’d been dragged to this fitting fit for more than royalty before she’d known it. Yet no matter how many times Elisa peered into the big mirror they’d prepared, it didn’t quite click with her.
The girly dress was white at the collar and otherwise dyed a dignified maroon. Upon closer inspection, she could see that the whole thing was covered in elaborate embroidery in a marginally different shade of red—even on the inside. Her skirt had a rare shape to it—contracting inward near the hem—and was also covered in red and black needlework, to say nothing of the gratuitous attachment of frills along every ridge. The black apron attached to it had been specially designed for this outfit in particular, and was altogether removed from its original protective purpose.
Elisa particularly disliked the constrictive feeling of tights; the ones she was wearing now paradoxically managed to be black and somewhat transparent. They, of course, had just as much intricate decoration as the rest, visible through the varying degrees of shade across the cloth. They slipped into tight shoes with raised heels that made her terribly irritable when she tried to walk.
However, the girl was slowly but steadily growing up. She knew that she had no say in the matter, and that her circumstances were meant to be a thing envied by others.
Yet knowledge did little to assuage her: to Elisa, the only garb fit for an outing at the festival was Mama’s handmade flaxen dress. Simple as it was, it was wonderfully colored, comfortable to wear, and the edges had ivies and grasses her beloved mother and sister-in-law had woven in.
They don’t get it at all. Elisa sighed quietly enough to avoid attention, just as she’d been taught.
“Will this do, Lady Leizniz?” From beyond the curtain, she heard her brother’s voice. She turned to see him dressed up in a wondrous outfit.
One glance was enough to make the boy out as an aristocrat’s dependable steward. Fanciful patterns altogether different from her own embroidery danced across his black shirt, and his matching pants accentuated the long legs of his slender build. The double-breasted vest on top had silver threads running through it, giving the whole look a stern yet graceful finish.
Had the full black set been placed on a mannequin, it would have surely been grim and dingy; yet the boy’s fair skin and blinding hair paired with it to create a gorgeous combination. He had a touch of makeup on—part of the rehearsal, apparently—that blurred the lines as to whether he was lad or lass, and his golden locks had been woven into a complicated braid that draped behind him.
“Eeeeee!”
“L-Lady Leizniz?!”
“Look! Marvel at how he’s turned out! Isn’t he perfect?! He’s the epitome of a loyal retainer!”
“This outfit has your inclinations written all over it! It’s amazing! I want him to come and model for us!”
“A miracle like this deserves an entire country as its prize!”
Elisa ignored the sickening reactions of those around her and instead stared at her fidgeting brother. A thought crossed her mind: according to her master, she would one day become a noble upon attaining professorship. Unigenerational nobles received additional benefits to the baseline research stipends of the College, and the most noteworthy could even hope to be awarded land and the permission to pass on their peerage to offspring.
Leizniz’s contributions had obviously netted her a position of hereditary nobility—not that she could produce a successor—which was why she had so much spare change to do as she pleased.
Elisa realized something: if she, too, attained such status, then would she not be able to do as she pleased? Her brother’s grumbling about shame, humiliation, and bullying never ceased when they were due for a fitting, but she quite liked how he looked in these clothes. Perhaps the dean had a keen eye when it came to fashion.
If all goes well, then I can do it too...
All that showed on the surface of the girl’s dark fantasies was a reserved smile—prim and proper, as had become her habit.
“You look very handsome, Dear Brother.”
As the boy teared up at hearing his sister’s words of consolation, the girl’s mind drifted to the future. What would I have him wear?
[Tips] Leizniz’s favorite clothier is a store well known among true connoisseurs for being run by the best of the best. Rumor has it that status or fortune alone will not afford entry; the master of the shop selects clientele on a rigorous test of taste.
Few can claim acquaintance with this enigmatic tailor who has even turned away a princess, but judging from the location’s continued survival, it would seem that they are of exceptional pedigree.
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