Chapter Text
prologue.
The shop was a bit on the shady side. Situated deep within a poorly lit alleyway, with its front door giving way to a staircase which extended downwards until Ena’s eyes couldn’t see anything anymore.
“It’s, like, one of those charming, vintage European buildings.” That was how Airi had described it when she recommended the place. But, now that Ena was here, she could only think “what’s charming about... this?”
She looked around. The sun had set. Night was seeping in. Ena’s phone screen was more of a light source, at this point, than the lone lamppost a few metres away. And it was quiet enough for Ena to hear her own heartbeat. Dark enough for the tortuous stone path to disappear into nothingness, just a few steps from where she stood.
It was the one day she thought about going out without dragging her brother or Airi along, too.
She already regretted it.
At one point she had taken a couple of steps towards the shop. And then back. She fiddled with her phone many times, scrolling through the same reviews. Of people raving about finding unusual and “super cute!” accessories. And talking about how friendly the shop staff was. And even posting photos with them.
Ena would look at the castle-like atmosphere in the photos and think about the kind of selfies she could take there. It was less princess-like than what one would find at Disney, but it had this same—she pondered about the specific word for a moment—this “otherworldly” feeling to it. Less of pure cuteness, more of a mysterious, elegant aura. Ena hadn’t quite taken photos in that style before, but the ones she saw in the reviews were tempting her to try.
A few steps down the stairs. And up again.
How long had it been since she arrived? And how weird was it that there were no customers coming in or out of this place? And why was it so dark, so desolate?
The questions flooded her mind as she wavered between going inside and going home. But the night breeze had a certain chillness to it that pushed Ena to descend the dark staircase—she hadn’t brought a jacket with her.
There were torches on the wall, alternating sides every few steps. Ena imagined they were more of a decorative item than a real torch, but the only thing she could tell was that they were as bright as the real deal. They weren’t bright at all. She would look up every few steps and realise that she couldn’t see the exit anymore.
When she finally reached the bottom, there was a small sign that pointed to her right. “The Fair Maiden this way,” it read. She followed it to another dimly lit, narrow hallway, which then led to an oval room, passing through a stone arch and a couple of historical costumes on stands by the side.
The oval room had a much better lighting story. The chandelier in its centre made it bright enough for Ena to better appreciate her Baroque-inspired surroundings. There were wooden benches, with soft red cushions on top, arranged around the room. She sat on the one close by the entrance. And as she settled in, taking a deep breath, she realised how hard her heart was thumping in her chest.
She had never been good with dark places. With scary stories. With ghosts and the supernatural. And her journey so far had evoked all of the same emotions in her.
Footsteps echoed through the marble floor. Ena lifted her gaze, passing through the checkerboard-patterned tiles and stopping at long, black platform boots. Up through the poofy red skirt, with some of its lace pannier sticking beneath the hem. And continuing with the black corset, the long cross necklace, and the ruffled white collar, which was in turn adorned by a black cameo pendant.
Ena’s eyes met the stranger’s. And she had certainly seen their face. But—and this she could not explain very well—any details of the person she met then still eluded her. She could only remember the pink strands that softly gathered on their shoulder, and the unconventional side-ponytail, held together by a large red ribbon.
At the time Ena was quite speechless. The stranger was pretty, but the sight of them caused a certain aversion—she didn’t know how to put this into words. She wanted to know more about the exquisite person, her heart had other plans.
The stranger came closer.
“May I interest your Ladyship in some of our finest fashion?” They extended their hand towards Ena, bending ever slightly. The gesture was met with growing confusion in the girl’s eyes. “Or, I suppose the way you youthful ones would put it, would you like to come inside and have a look at our accessories?”
Oh. Ena’s brain clicked. It’s that kind of shop.
Not that Ena had a thing against it, but the archaic phrasing was a bit difficult to follow. And she wasn’t quite sure how to feel about the courtesies—she had been to her fair share of polite gatherings, but it wasn’t exactly her thing. She was no noble, and she wasn’t used to it.
The shop staff still had their hand extended. Ena let her own hand meet theirs, hesitantly. When their hands touched, first Ena’s fingers on their palm, and then, slowly, Ena’s fingers sliding down towards the stranger’s, and feeling a soft clasp when both of their fingers met, there was only one thing going through Ena’s head. They’re cold. The chill from touching the person’s hands momentarily spread upwards, through Ena’s arms, and into her heart.
She shivered, slightly.
But not for long. The next instant she felt her hand being pulled; she got up from her seat, following the shop staff towards another stone arc. The chilling sensation was gone, but the hand holding hers still lacked any familiar warmth.
They must have a very poor circulation, winter must be tough. Ena thought to herself as they passed the arc and entered what seemed to be the main room of the store. There were mannequins by the sides of the large salon, each donned in dresses that blended the aesthetics and silhouettes of an era long past with the colours and techniques of modern fashion. Some in pretty recognisable lolita motifs, some in what, to Ena, seemed to be more on the gothic side.
“Were you looking for anything in particular?” The shop staff asked, and, upon a negative response from Ena, pondered for a moment. “In that case, would you like me to pick something for you?”
Ena nodded. The shop staff took a couple of steps back, looked Ena from head to toes, and went into a pensive stance that lasted a few moments. And then, as if a lightbulb had popped on their head, they started towards one of the chests on the corner of the room, producing a long red ribbon from it.
They held it up to the girl waiting at the centre. Smiled. “Perfect!” And, saying that, joined Ena again, presenting her the velvet ribbon. “I think this would match you quite well. You could use it to tie your hair,” the shop staff added another smile for good measure.
The girl blinked a couple of times. Looked at the other person, incredulous. “I don’t think there’s much to tie here,” she ran her fingers through the silky brown strands, which all stopped shortly past her chin.
“Then,” still smiling, the shop staff shot another suggestion, “how about a braid? It looks good in almost any hair style. Like a charm point, as the magazines tend to call.”
Ena held the ribbon in her hand, slid her fingers through it, feeling its soft texture. She tried to imagine how it would look on her hair, without much success. Her eyes moved back to the shop staff, questioningly. “Do you have a mirror I can use or something?” And, as she asked, her eyes ran through the room again to be sure—no reflective surface in sight.
“Ah...” The shop staff followed with an awkward laugh. “We don’t really have mirrors here.”
“No mirrors? In a fashion store?”
“I know, I know,” they put their hands on their hips, closed their eyes for an instant. Then, putting one finger to their lips, followed in what, from Ena’s point of view, could only have been a provocation, “but don’t you think that helps build the mysterious atmosphere here? A fashion store, situated deeply underground, with stone walls that feel like they’d belong in another era...” The shop staff dropped the dramatic, pretend-storyteller tone, and laughed, softly. “Or something like that. The owner is a bit eccentric.”
Ena grew more annoyed. “Mirrors have existed for a long time, you know.”
“Ahaha. You’re right. But I think people have been playing along with it so far. They generally come with a friend to help them try things out. Or they ask me to take a photo,” the shop staff produced what looked like an old instant camera from their bag, holding it to Ena. “I can try if you’re okay with it.”
Ena sighed. Thought about turning around and leaving. But there was a kind of fascination in her that she didn’t quite understand. Something that compelled her to stay and see what would come from it. Plus, old instant cameras had their own charm. Ena would be lying if she said she wasn’t at least a bit curious about what the shop staff would choose to capture—and the review photos were pushing the expectations for it a bit high.
“Alright, alright. But I don’t think I’m all that good at braiding it myself either. I’ve never done it.”
“Oh...” The shop staff put the camera back in the bag, then held the ribbon to Ena. “Do you want me to braid your hair for you?” Ena nodded. The shop staff walked over to her side, carefully ran their fingers through Ena’s hair a couple of times, separated a small portion into three strands, and patiently wove them together into a short braid, tying it with the red ribbon. “There!” They took a few steps back, looked at Ena for a moment. “Perfect! Should I take a picture now?”
“Please do.”
The staff took the camera out from the bag again, pointed it towards Ena, searched for an angle that would do a good job of showcasing the accessory they were trying to sell. Ena helped—she pulled one of the poses she had seen trending on social media recently, and held the tip of the braided strands with one hand. A few more moments of finding a good composition and the shutter sound echoed. Followed by the grating sound of the rollers pushing the film through the camera.
Ena hurried over as the staff pulled the film out, peeked at the photo. It was a bit darker than she expected—and she was already expecting a sombre look given the room’s lighting. A few things in the background blended together as shadows, which made the portrait pop slightly. It felt more like an old Caravaggesque painting than a photograph, with its less saturated, more contrasting colours.
It wasn’t something one would take a buying decision on for a real fashion accessory—it should’ve come with double the “actual colours may differ” warnings. It was more artistic than it was valuable at assessing what Ena originally intended to. But it didn’t matter. Her eyes were now entranced by the subject in the photo—it was her, she knew it was her... but it didn’t feel like her.
“Can I... keep it?” Ena asked, hesitantly, her small hand holding the corner of the photograph.
“Of course!” The staff smiled, and waltzed their way behind the counter. “If you’d come here for a second,” Ena did, her feet moving before her consciousness had a chance of acknowledging the request. “And, luckily, this happens to be on sale, so it’ll come down to just 500 yen.”
“Oh?” Ena was taken aback by hearing the price, for a moment. “Oh. Right,” she searched her coin purse, presented a few of them to the person behind the counter, and somehow missed the smile they shot back.
Ena’s mind was at a different place at the time. And she didn’t quite remember how she left the shop. And how she got home. And what had happened in between. She only realised that she was now in her bedroom, looking at the small mirror atop her dresser, her hand holding the tip of her newly braided strands, with her fingers feeling the soft touch of the velvet ribbon that tied it together, and eyes wide open, in surprise, or shock, perhaps, at what stared back at her from the other side.
There was no red in the reflection of Ena Shinonome. The ribbon she now held between her fingers was nowhere to be seen in the mirror.