An Oath to Perfection
In the northern section of Berylin, surrounded by noble estates and luxury shops, lay one store known as the Nameless Clothier’s.
With white walls and fanciful blue bricks, the beautiful building blended into the scenery. The only signifier that it dealt in the business of fashion was a single sign depicting a spindle and tambour; the store lacked the large front windows that had become normalized in recent years, and didn’t have so much as a name out front. Its exterior was a plain statement that the uninvited were also unwelcome.
Perhaps that was an imprecise statement. In truth, there was only one person truly welcome here: she for whom this entire establishment had been built.
The upper class started their days later than those below, and as such, the store had yet to open to match its clientele. As the sun lurched over the horizon at early dawn, a lone methuselah quietly prepared for the day ahead.
She was the proprietress of the store. One of her regulars—a little blond boy—was under the impression that all the tailors working here cast their allegiance not with her, but with her patron; yet the truth was that the methuselah was the owner of the business. In fact, she was also the only person who worked here: the other seamstresses belonged to large, famous brands around the city and came by only when they were needed.
After confirming the placement of her classy interior decor and ensuring that not a speck of dust could be seen in her store, the woman sat in her working chair without a sound. Innumerable needles poked out from her pincushion, and a vibrant collection of colors was starting to take the shape of clothing on the table in front of her.
Originally, this store had been founded solely as a means of facilitating the woman’s own hobby—which was precisely why it had become so highly esteemed. Furthermore, her most loyal customer was none other than the Magdalena von Leizniz, whose love of finery (though not necessarily her own) needed no introduction in noble spheres.
To wear goods of the same make as an established connoisseur was, in and of itself, a powerful statement in high society. Many came to put in an order just for the gossip it would produce around themselves.
Of those countless orders, most were tossed: the methuselah only bothered to work on things outside her realm of interest if her investor Lady Leizniz put in a word to that effect. The half-finished garment on her desk was one such article.
Letting out a sigh, the seamstress brushed against her needles with a magic touch. They sprang to life, diving into the fabric with trails of thread. The whole project floated into the air, layering itself on the outline of a holographic ballroom gown—her mystic rough draft.
Dozens of needles zipped around, transforming the piece from cloth cut to shape to a proper dress in less than an hour. The embroidery was detail incarnate, and the country’s finest tailors would have been happy to ship an order of this sort; yet the woman who’d pulled off this incredible feat looked positively miserable.
“What dreary work...”
She could pick and choose her projects, but it was not so easy to do the same with clients. This stately gown may have been breathtaking, but knowing that it would be put over a buyer who had nothing more than peerage meant it failed to elicit any emotional response.
Oh, I long for something exciting.
“Morniiing!”
Another woman slipped in from the back door. The gnoll was another seamstress who usually worked for a company that brought its business straight to the doors of the privileged. It was as famous as it was luxurious: only the richest of nobles could afford to call master tailors straight to them.
“Wow, you sure are at it early, Mistress.”
“Of course I am—I live upstairs.” Suddenly pausing to think, the proprietress asked, “Was it today?”
“Ha ha!” Though this was a cute giggle by gnoll standards, a mensch would have been terrified by her sharp hyena-like laugh. “Aw, you don’t have to pretend, Mistress. As if a methuselah would ever forget.”
I wasn’t pretending, the proprietress thought to herself.
True, methuselah were a people alien to the concept of forgetfulness; however, there were still times when an idea might slip their minds. There was a world of difference between failing to recall and not bothering to.
For a methuselah to devote her life to clothing made her an oddity even amongst her kind. She spent her days filling her head with all the unmade designs that she might one day make; plans and schedules often found their way out of her consciousness.
“I’m really looking forward to this. What kind of request do you think Lady Leizniz’ll bring today?”
“As am I. And whatever it is, I’m sure it will be simply inspiring. Lately I’ve been smitten with that one child. You know, the one who came with the blond boy.”
“Oh, the College student! I love them too, especially when they have that listless look on their face! Gosh, that master-servant role-play was sooo cute!”
Yet the gnoll’s euphoria contrasted harshly against the methuselah’s vicious glare.
“Excuse me? That child is at their best when happily frolicking around with the blond boy.”
“Excuse me? Have you filled in your eye sockets with marbles, Mistress? The young prince, driven to despair by a marriage he doth not want, and his loyal butler who helpeth him to find his path forward—come on! How can you not understand perfection when you see it?”
“How kind of you to fret over my vision. May I extend the same courtesy to you by recommending a pair of spectacles? Our lady brought the pair here together upon seeing them being merry in the marketplace. Or are you saying the beauty of friendship blossoming from the two competing ends of a love triangle is too much for you to comprehend?”
“Aw, I guess you don’t get it. I’m not saying that their smile isn’t great too, but that clouded expression when they’re thinking is just the best.”
“I’m afraid you are the one who doesn’t understand. That sunny smile they show when playing with the blond boy is simply too good to put to words.”
“Wow, it sure is lively in here!”
As the pair got into their heated debate, seamstress after seamstress filed in from the back entrance. Lady Leizniz was coming today, so they’d all abandoned their posts at their real jobs—to be fair, this was more “real” to most of them in terms of both motivation and pay—in order to show face.
“Umm, for me...I like it when she’s a girl. Like, they both have one-sided crushes... The young lady asks her butler how her new evening gown looks. He answers like a good servant. But she really only wanted to show him. But she can’t, so she tries to at least give him the first look, and...ugh!”
“Trashy! Love, better is tragedy! Eh, butler go off with maid!”
“No way, now your scenario is trashy. Besides, I think unrequited love hits harder if it’s on the boy’s end anyway. The lady is attacked, but the butler saves her! Oh, but he’s mortally wounded—and as the end approaches, the truth comes flooding forth!”
“All you tragedy-lovers fail to see deeper than the surface. What the world truly desires is a happy ending. Do you remember that knight outfit that we made for the boy with golden hair? Imagine he comes for the princess’s hand looking like that.”
“That’s still too shallow! None of you are seeing the truth: the raven-haired child is wonderful precisely because they’re tivisco! You’re missing the oscillations between friendship and romance, the dissonance between desire and sexlessness... Don’t you see?!”
The discussion grew more heated with every new entrance. It was evident that Lady Leizniz hadn’t personally selected these women without reason. In fact, that much was plain to see in how they were all free to speak without an ounce of reserve; these weren’t employees at a store the dean liked to shop at, but sisters-in-arms pursuing the same end goals.
On a fundamental level, that was why they worked here. It wasn’t the extravagant pay or minimal working hours, nor was it the ambition to sell their names by associating with one of the most revered establishments in high society.
No, they simply loved creating beauty with their own hands and had taken Lady Leizniz’s hand to further pursue that delight.
“Speaking of gloomy expressions, I think they suit the blond boy better. Ugh, I wanna see him sad. Not, like, in a tragic situation, but just looking heartbroken in an all-black outfit.”
“I am understanding! He’s butler, goes to master’s funeral with single streak tear!”
“Hrm, I suppose I can see your point. But the boy makes for a wonderful solo model as well. I’d like to put him in a soldier’s uniform and really accentuate the manliness of a knight ready to march for the front lines.”
“I’d like to go the other direction...and dress him up as a girl. He’s been growing lately, but we can hide his neck with a tall enough collar, and his shoulders wouldn’t look so broad if we puffed up the bits around them. I know our lady prefers when cross-dressing is recognizable at first glance, but I’m quite partial to scenarios wherein a boy must hide his identity and truly play the part...”
“Squee! That’s beautiful! Wonderful! Oh, I completely understand!”
“Hmm... But what of the theme? A bridal dress? Or perhaps a widow’s mourning dress?”
“No, no, no—it must be a luncheon dress! Imagine: a storied noble house must produce a bride, but they have no daughters. Instead, they send off a son dressed as a girl...only to find that his fiancé is a girl dressed as a boy!”
“Eek! Perfect!”
“Wait, hold on! How about, instead, he gets to know his ‘groom’ as a boy first, and they grow closer and closer until he starts to question what the emotions in his heart really are?!”
“Both! Eh, the girl also!”
If the subjects of this discussion were to overhear its contents, one would reach for his sword and the other would try—albeit not very enthusiastically—to stop him.
Of the dean’s favored children, some enjoyed being prettied up and fawned on; but those two were, relatively speaking, rather normal in the head. If nothing else, the seamstresses all understood why the pair made those gloomy expressions when they looked at themselves in the mirror.
Yet their and their patron’s hobbies came first. Whether they truly understood the depths of their sin was dubious.
“Oh, I love those two, but I really do wish we could pair them up with some of the others. I know our lady is only respecting their boundaries, but if only we could line all of the children up together!”
“I doubt that day will ever come, sadly. I asked her once before, and Lady Leizniz said that she didn’t want to introduce them to her noble apprentices for fear that both sides would shrink away.”
“Disappoint, but yes, our lady’s wish is for most important!”
“It really is a shame, but she knows best.”
The boisterous discussions went on and on—that the women’s hands remained always busy was proof of their skill—until the proprietress looked out at the angle of the sun and judged that the time was nigh.
Clapping her hands, she said, “To chit and chat is well and good, but Lady Leizniz shall soon arrive. Our preparations must be perfect. Be ready to exceed expectations no matter what she brings us: I am not so kind as to overlook poor performance in the face of excessive play.”
“Yes, Mistress,” the crew answered.
Zipping their mouths, the clothiers worked at full speed. No matter what their patron had in store, the overwhelming array of fabrics, threads, and tools they lined up would be enough to do the job. Knowing the dean’s preferences, they brought out a kaleidoscope’s worth of colors in velvet and satin; make no mistake, though, for they did not shy away from an array of more traditional silks.
Rather, they went so far as to prepare flax and cotton—materials thought unfit to be kept in stock at an establishment as fine as this—in the event that their lady wished for more common clothes. Trends in high society were ever unpredictable—who knew? If a particularly stunning lady attended a ball with a dress made of cheap material to great effect, perhaps others would follow suit. Those gathered in this shop were not incompetent enough to cast perfectly good cloth aside due to perceived class alone.
With a board of samples ready in case they needed to put in an order for rarer colors, the team finished their preparations. They waited with bated breath to see what kind of perfection would walk through the door this time.
“Good morning, everyone! I have some truly wonderful designs to share with you today! Oh, my designers are just marvelous!”
The wraith only ever sent a note on the date of her arrival and unceremoniously slipped through the wall when the time came. Yet her usual needleworkers had gotten a hunch, and their greeting was picture perfect. Lined up in formation, they curtsied with good grace.
“Your arrival is our greatest pleasure, von Leizniz,” the methuselah led.
“Welcome, von Leizniz,” the rest followed.
“Thank you! Now that we have that out of the way, let’s enjoy ourselves!”
Undead as she was, Lady Leizniz beamed with life. Trailing behind her were a blond boy who had clearly not slept in days and a raven-haired boy worrying about the other’s health.
A few of the seamstresses were visibly excited to see the tivisco in his male state, while a few others seemed disappointed. Although their emotions were scattered, their hearts were together: the curtains rose on yet another Sabbath hosted by the wraith and her followers.
[Tips] Practically all noble clothing is made to order. As such, the capital has many high-end tailor shops to meet the demand.
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