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The grand figure of Kephale stood firm in the distance as he oversaw the lands, the Dawn Device still resolutely raised upon his back. Despite the golden rays that graced Okhema, the streets were devoid of rambling merchants hoping to sell their wares, or the casual passerby perusing the odd stall or two. A guard stationed near one of the many flower beds finally allowed his shoulders to slump as another approached him. They exchanged a few words, a bit of banter about long hours during this period of mild unrest, a bit of well-wishes for the next eight quints of duty.
It was through these streets that a certain trailblazer walked, turning her gaze away from the guards. She passed meticulously trimmed hedges and bushes speckled in flowers, butterflies flitting between the closely knit leaves. One of them may have been a nymph; it's so difficult to tell, what with their yellow wings being practically indiscernible from the actual species' that inhabited this land. But she ignored the creeping urge to satiate her curiosity; the little wretches would likely make her spend the entirety of the day running laps around the garden.
She came to a stop in front of an ornate door that spanned a height twice as tall as her own. Now that her faint footsteps had come to a halt, all that accompanied her were the faint rustling of trees swaying in the gentle wind. Not for the first time, Stelle questioned the wisdom of coming here. If anything, she would be interrupting the lady's rest. But she had mentioned in passing conversation that the Chrysos Heirs have less of a need for rest than their crimson-blooded counterparts, so surely there was a conceivable chance of her being available and willing to entertain her?
Before the singular braincell in her otherwise barren brain could intervene and comment on the sheer idiocy of that hypothesis, she had reached for the bronze knocker and rapped it three times against the wood. Each ring seemed to echo in the quietude, each ring making her regret entertaining this fleeting whim.
As she stepped back a few paces, she idly hoped that her lack of proper rest wasn't too visible. She hadn't the slightest idea why she was so restless; perhaps the nerves from being face-to-face with Nikador a few weeks prior had yet to fully pass out of her system. Oh, why must her sleep-deprived mind torment her so?
Her musings were interrupted only a few moments later as the door swung open.
"Ah, esteemed guest. I was not expecting you at this hour. To what do I owe the pleasure?" spoke the lady clad in robes of pristine alabaster and intricate golden detailing. They trailed down the contours of her form, the embroidery reminiscent of the crown moulding Stelle had observed in the architecture of the holy city. Despite it being one of the later quints of the Curtain-Fall Hour, she was still as refined as she normally was, her hair entangled with flowers that never seemed to wilt, her headpiece shimmering in the sunlight that filtered in through the canopy of foliage.
"Well, I woke up a bit too early today and remembered your message about teaching me to sew. I...hope it's not too rude of me, Lady Aglaea?" Stelle responded with a sheepish grin, a hand running through her grey locks. She had an inkling that, despite the mention of her sleep schedule being only a half-lie, those golden threads of hers had given a small quiver, as though strung by a nervous hand.
To her relief (and surprise), the Dressmaster merely flashed a soft smile at her, the door creaking a tad bit wider.
"Not at all. In fact, I have only just finished some drafts for a future piece. Perhaps you might like to take a look at them? I am rather torn between several iterations." Lady Aglaea stepped aside, already retreating back into her workshop. With an affirmative hum, Stelle followed her in.
Her first thought upon stepping across the threshold was that it was incredibly grand for a tailoring workshop. The ceilings seemed to practically touch the sky, wide windows bathing the place in splashes of orange and yellow hues. A large mural dominated the opposite wall, a series of masterfully hand-crafted bookshelves and overflowing storage cabinets marking the spaces between the panes of stained glass. Her footsteps echoed on the marble as she marveled at the place, her eyes darting all across the room.
Her second thought was that there were an awful lot more...puppet things, in the lady's employ than she had thought previously. They seemed to have been put up to menial tasks, however; a few sweeping and dusting the place spotless, another several sifting through drawers and organising various fabrics.
"Garmentmaker, please, brew up another pot of tea for our dear guest." Lady Aglaea motioned towards the nearest one of her puppets. With a courteous bow, it turned and left through one of the side doors, the door left swinging in its wake. She then turned back to the trailblazer, quirking a brow at her. Confusion must've made itself apparent on her features.
"You have so many of these...puppet-thingys?"
"They're useful companions of mine, these Garmentmakers; despite their fragility," she responded, running a finger down the arm of one next to a cluttered table, its shoulders artfully laden with a flimsy white fabric. She recognised it as one of those dressmaking techniques Himeko had mentioned in passing; draping, was it?
"Take a seat, dear guest," Lady Aglaea continued. The draped Garmentmaker pulled along a second chair, keeping it next to the other one angled towards the workbench. She did as she said, plopping herself down into the seat.
"Companion, Lady Aglaea?" Stelle repeated, mainly out of curiosity.
"Please, there's no need to be so formal, esteemed guest. You may simply call me Aglaea." Though her polite smile did not let up, it had a slightly strained note to it, her shoulders drawn into a subtly tensed line. Something dangerous flitted behind her gaze. For a brief moment, she's reminded of how ruthless she could be, how unforgiving. The decision to accept her offer of tailoring lessons grew more foolish by the second.
"Then, you should just call me Stelle," she answered, letting her dodge the subject. Previous experience indicated that it'd be a death sentence to broach on a seemingly sensitive topic. Quite literally.
The hints of hostility had left the blonde almost as quietly as it had appeared, her posture casual as she leaned on the table, absently brushing away files and styluses to clear out some space. Stelle allowed herself to relax again, now that she wasn't pinned by her glare. It wasn't that dumb of a choice to willingly visit her, a certain part of her attempted to reason, right?
"Do you have any experience with sewing, Stelle, dear?" For reasons she couldn't explain, hearing her name from the lady's lips made her face heat up, in spite of her lingering reservations.
"No, not really."
The Dressmaster hummed, placing a round paperweight on top of a tower of paperwork. It must have been weighted heavily, for the stack dipped down by an inch or two by its hefty existence.
"I see. Worry not, we'll simply start with the basics." She finished by setting a sealed letter on the side, leaving them with a decently large clearing on the workbench. She slid over a couple sheets of paper, spreading them out on the newly cleared surface as she continued, "Before I begin instructing you, have a look at some of these sketches I've made, and let me know your thoughts."
There were three of them; each of them bearing sketches of various dresses and outfits. The graphite was dark, and she could feel the indents made by the pencil as Stelle glided her fingers across the rough sketches.
"They all have their merits, but I've managed to narrow it down to these concepts," Aglaea—god, even thinking about her without the formal title made her feel oddly flustered—spoke. Her own fingers ran across the pages, as though feeling the etches she had left, before circling four of the outfits. Two of them resembled some of the evening robes she'd seen people wear at the baths, one of them leaned towards something more casual yet still quite formal. But it was the last one, accompanied by a few explanatory notes, that caught her eye.
"This one is really pretty." Stelle muttered, tapping on the fourth concept. Aglaea hummed, her fingers searching for the concept she had pointed out. Their hands brushed against each other in the moment that it had taken for Stelle to withdraw her hand, the touch sending a tingling jolt up her arm.
"Ah, I figured as much. I took greater inspiration from your own clothing for this one," she said, rubbing her finger along the edges of the sketch. She picked it up, settling down on the seat next to her as she said, "Thank you for your thoughts. I'll use this as the base for my next piece, then.
"Anyhow, back to the matter at hand. Since you're completely new to this craft, you can start with an already patterned piece. I'll teach you how to make your own patterns after you complete this; it's best that you get a feel for sewing to begin with." A Garmentmaker drifted over as she spoke, setting down a chest on the table, along with a spool of black thread and a fine needle.
"This box is filled with scrapped fabric from patterns that didn't quite work right. You can pick any of them to begin with; just let me know if you have any troubles." She finished, turning away from her to work on refining her sketch.
Alright, that didn't sound like it would be too difficult. Step one; thread the needle. Step two; stitch some already patterned pieces together.
She began by awkwardly picking up the needle in her dominant hand. It was rather thin, to the point where she needed to use the tips of her nails to even place it in her palm. The thread was thinner still, vanishing from her eyesight at certain angles.
Step one might be a little more difficult than she had imagined.
She began attempting to thread it nonetheless. Not that the attempts were very successful. She struggled for far longer than she was willing to admit, the end fraying as she poorly tried to force it through the minuscule gap. At some point, she managed to get a wisp of it peaking out the other side, only for her hand to shake and end up sliding it right back out.
"Is...something wrong?"
God, so it was a pathetic enough display that even Aglaea noticed her struggle. She extended a hand. Sheepishly, she dropped the needle and thread into her palm. Within moments, the blonde seemed to understand the problem, her mouth curling into a silent 'oh'.
"I'm sorry, I hadn't noticed that the Garmentmaker had given you one of my finer needles." She got up from her chair as she spoke, heading to one of the shelves nearby. She rummaged through its contents, before picking up another white spool. As she returned to the workbench, Stelle saw that the thread was thicker, and a larger needle was nestled between the wounded fiber.
"Thank you," she muttered, taking the spool. The blonde only returned it with a small nod, returning to her sketches as she further refined its silhouette. She forced herself not to linger on her features; a difficult feat, considering her natural beauty paired with the sunlight highlighting her visage only made her look like something straight out of a painting done by the most talented artists Amphoreus had to offer.
The eye of this needle was, thankfully, much more manageable, and she threaded it after only a few tries. Pride bloomed in her chest at the extraordinarily simple act. She quickly tied a knot at the end so that nothing could undo her hard work by accident.
Now done with the very first step of the tasks given to her, she moved onto the second; actually stitching something. She flicked open the chest left on the desk, and was met with an assortment of fabrics, each in different colours and textures. Even the sight of them seemed quite daunting, half of them tangled up with one another.
She looked over at Aglaea, who was still engrossed in her sketches.
"Yes, just a moment, I'm nearly done," she responded before Stelle had even opened her mouth. Likely, her threads had sensed her trepidation.
Whilst waiting for the Dressmaster to finish her work, the trailblazer decided to regard the large workshop once more. She had not noticed it earlier, but the other Garmentmakers had begun to flit out, having completed their duties. There were still a few lined up as mannequins for draping, donning varying levels of scrap fabric, tiny pins embedded along the folds and seams. It was somewhat eerie, watching them hover in single file. She wondered how the blonde never felt unnerved by their presence.
"There. What do you need, dear?" said Aglaea, setting down her pencil. Stelle caught glimpses of vague measurements on the sheet of paper before it was covered by her host's arm.
"I'm a bit...lost. I—I don't even know where to start." She broke off into a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of her neck again. The blonde hummed thoughtfully, reaching into the chest of fabrics for her. After a bit of finessing and coaxing the scraps to part from one another, she pulled out several lengths of black cloth, each pinned alongside an old, marked newsletter.
"Here. This is a pattern for a simple, flowing blouse. The fabric is already cut according to the patterns, so all you will need to do is stitch the pieces together accordingly.
"...Or perhaps you might prefer practicing different stitches, instead of beginning with a proper piece?" Her tone did not indicate condescension or mockery, but Stelle's ears still burned. She nodded regardless. If it had taken her so much effort to even thread the needle, then she could only imagine her struggle with hashing together an actual, wearable article of clothing.
Humming, Aglaea unpinned the pattern from the cut pieces in a practiced motion, crumpling the newsletters into balls before tossing them aside. A Garmentmaker quickly swerved to their right to catch it, properly disposing of it in the nearby wastebasket.
"Some chalk would be appreciated, too." She called out, lining up the straight sides of the cloth.
At her request, the puppet drifted over to one of the cabinets, returning with several chunks of chalk. Aglaea took it from their hand with a small thank you , returning to the cloth. An impressively straight streak of white was left on the fabric as she pulled the chalk along the edges of the two scraps.
"This is merely a guide, so that you can practice stitching in a clean, proper line. It's a simple and fundamental concept, but I've observed that many beginners tend to skimp on it." She pointed out the gap between the line left between the chalk and the end of the fabric.
"This is your seam allowance; basically the area that you use to stitch any two pieces together. The amount of allowance you should leave depends on the material you're using.
"For now, simply stitch these pieces together with whatever method you'd like. We'll work from there on out."
Once again, Aglaea flitted back to her chair, returning to drawing the concepts for the garments. Stelle stared down the charcoal textiles.
Alright, this didn't seem too hard.
...Is what she would've thought, if she hadn't spent the previous ten minutes fussing over the needle alone.
Regardless, she would at least make an attempt , however poor it may (absolutely will) be. So, it was with delusional hope and prayers that she began her endeavour, carefully piercing the fabrics with the needle.
Slowly, and choppily, the pearl thread began binding the two fabrics together. It was flimsy, yes, and she might have strayed away from the marked line a couple times, but the scruffiness was reasonable for her skill level. It was a very calming experience, in truth. She could shut her mind off as she made her way down the length, occasionally checking if the stitches were correct or not.
Involved as she were in the act, she hadn't noticed the blonde next to her setting down her pencil with an air of finality, nor did she notice the small screech of the chair being pulled as the lady stood up.
She did, however, notice it when she leaned dangerously close to her, a hand resting on her shoulder as she inspected her work. She nearly dropped the needle from the shock, all her senses flaring up as the blonde felt the stitches she had made. She tutted in a mildly disapproving manner, lowering down until her head was level with Stelle's.
"Like this, dear. Your stitches are coming out uneven otherwise." Her breath tickled her ear and oh god her heart is pounding as hard as it did in the Vortex of Genesis. She heard her hum instructions on how to keep the distancing consistent, but none of the information entered her dense skull. All she could think about was the hands gently guiding her own, the warmth of her body brushing against her side, her voice that washed over her like gentle velvet and—
"...And there. Much more refined now, is it not?" Aglaea said, finally backing away from Stelle. Her heart gave a strange pang at the newly formed distance, clashing with her relief at being able to breathe normally again. As her eyes finally focused on the fabric between her fingers, she found that the stitches made with the blonde's assistance had an almost inhumane level of accuracy, and stretched all along the length of the fabric in half the time it had taken for her to make a few mediocre ones.
"How—how did you do that so fast?" She stammered, still rather scatterbrained. Aglaea was humoured by the pexplexion in her voice, her tinkling laugh filled with the sweetness of ambrosia.
"Speed and dexterity come with practice; something that I have much of. Why don't you try it again, this time along the inner edge of the chalk marking?"
Stelle blindly nodded, still feeling as lost as she did whilst making the stitches herself.
"Lovely. Tell me if you need anything; I'll be draping this piece for patterning." With that, she got up from the chair, leaving a very lost Stelle to fiddle with the black cloth. She still doesn't know how Aglaea made those stitches perfectly centered along the white lines, even though it was technically her own fingers that had made them. Maybe she had subtly wrapped those invisible threads of her around her digits, puppeteering them into making it flawless.
Picking up the needle with no more confidence than before, she attempted to copy the stitches that she had made. Alas, it was a fool's errand, a solid minute being spent just to ensure an even distancing between the stitches.
After five minutes of struggle and only a few pinpricks to show for it, she made the executive decision to give up. Dropping the scrap fabric handed to her onto the table, she resorted to sneaking glances at the blonde's work. It was mesmerizing, watching her slip into a state of quiet focus. Skilled hands ran across the length of light textiles, meticulously lining up pleats and layers, pushing pins into the Garmentmaker (who was unperturbed by the affair; likely, it was incapable of feeling pain) as she went. She watched as she twirled her puppet around, occasionally picking up a pair of massive scissors to trim off the hem and mold the garment into a particular form.
"I can feel your eyes boring into me. Is something the matter, dear?"
Stelle felt as though her being blind meant very little when she had those omniscient golden threads at her beck and call.
She also felt that it was so very unfair for her to keep calling her dear; she doesn't think her poor heart would not be able to hold on much longer.
"N-No. Just...it's just really impressive, watching you work," she stammered. Goodness, all it took was a pretty lady for all her speech faculties to crumble into a heap of rubble. Aglaea hummed, cutting off the excess fabric in a smooth motion, the scissors gliding through it as though it were water. She felt inclined to say something to fill the ensuing, extremely awkward quiet, but was at a loss as for what exactly to say.
As though sent personally to assist the absolute disaster that she was, the side door was swung open by a Garmentmaker, a tray within its ball-jointed hands. Stelle had half the mind to fall to her knees and profusely thank it for saving her. It glided over to the workbench, lowering the tray onto the oak surface. It held a ceramic teapot, and a pair of teacups and saucers. Aglaea set aside the large scissor at their entrance, deciding to continue her project at another time. She regarded the puppet with a nod as she as she joined Stelle at the table, reaching for the kettle's handle.
"Which, uh, kind of tea is this?" asked Stelle as Aglaea poured them a cup. In terms of these kinds of drinks, she was only familiar with Himeko's coffee concoctions, and they were darker than the negative space between the stars. The aspen gold that flowed from the spout of the kettle was entirely foreign to her.
"A refreshing brew of various flowers and herbs native to Okhema, splashed with generous dashes of fresh honey. It ought to help with your troubles of getting adequate rest," explained the blonde with a small smile, setting the kettle back down on the tray. Stelle felt a bit exposed at that remark; so those threads did catch the half-lie.
"It seems like you haven't gotten much sleep yourself either," she replied quickly. It came out sounding far more defensive than she had intended, but her host took no offense to the remark, merely sighing as she took a seat next to Stelle.
"The day is long and busy, so I only get to indulge so much in passion projects during these quiet quints. With a good bout of inspiration, I often end up spending the entirety of the Hour working on a piece." Slender fingers curled around the glass handle, bringing the cup to rosy lips. The trailblazer found her gaze lingering, even as she set the cup back on its saucer. They looked so soft, coated in a light layer of shimmering gloss.
A traitorous thought wondered how they would feel pressed against her own.
"Shall we take a break, then?" Stelle snapped out of her stupor at her voice, a tinge of pink dusting her face and the cloth she had been working with still left forgotten on the table.
"Oh—um, yeah, that sounds great." Quickly, her eyes darted away from the lady, instead focusing on the cup of tea still set on the tray, a gentle fragrance and warm steam wafting its way up. With a bit of excessive haste, she took her cup from the tray. Trauma from being Himeko's taste-tester that one time made her hesitate, but it smelled pleasant enough. Distinctly floral, with notes of sweetness beneath it. Besides, it was Aglaea's Garmentmaker who had made it, not Himeko. Surely not all caffeinated beverages would taste like nuclear waste and keep her up for a week straight?
It would be unwise to stare at it with a grimace for much longer; the last thing she wanted was for Aglaea to notice and take offense. Whispering a prayer to the Aeons, she took a tentative sip.
It was a delicate flavour. She caught something that tasted strangely similar to chamomiles and lavenders. The honey was certainly present, yet not overpowering. Most shockingly, it had no traces of bitterness; just a sweet aftertaste that lingered in her mouth. She took another few sips, careful to not burn her mouth.
"I'm assuming it was to your liking, Stelle?" asked Aglaea, after she had set her already drained cup down with a clink. Stelle nodded. This singular cup had somewhat restored her perception of tea and coffee. Her mouth grew into a dazzling smile that reached her eyes as she said, "I'm glad to hear it. It's a brew that I've come up with myself; I've experimented with several combinations to achieve this careful balance. It needs to steep for a while to properly extract the taste and essence of each component, but I feel it's worth the long wait."
Stelle hummed in response, hastily taking another couple sips. Yes, Aglaea had inherited the Coreflame of Romance, but she should be in jail for how beautiful she was. It made it all the more difficult to be cautious with her, like Dan Heng very much is.
"What process do you follow for this, exactly?" Perhaps with some persuasion, she could convince Himeko to take some notes from this brew, and perhaps with some divine assistance, she'll end up making something remotely edible.
Aglaea went on to explain her tea-brewing in detail. The trailblazer made some mental notes, but mostly let her voice wash over her as she slowly drained her cup. She was right; the grip of exhaustion on her body had already begun to loosen.
"Oh, I nearly forgot...I would like to discuss a few things with you, since we're here." Aglaea suddenly said, leaning forward in her chair. Dread began gathering in the back of Stelle's mind. The last time they had a discussion, it was not one with an all-too pleasant outcome. The singular braincell in her skull finally stirred, forming a sensible thought. I knew this was a dumb idea, it spat with vindication, you waltzed straight into the lion's den and actually expected to come out alive?!
"...Go on." Maybe, if Lady Luck looked down upon her with mercy, this would only entail a mild chance of death.
"I...would like to apologize for my behaviour in the Vortex of Genesis. I understand that you are wary of me still, and for good reason. I did what I believed at the time to be the best course of action for Okhema. But now, with your aid in the defeat of Nikador, and the benefit of hindsight, I've come to realise that I was hasty in my judgement of you."
Out of the many things Stelle had expected, an apology was not one of them. She carefully watched the blonde for signs of falsehood in her words. Her body language was open. Her soft voice spoke every word with genuine penitence.
"I know that I am in no position to ask you for this, but I would like an opportunity to perhaps...restart, our relationship. Get off on a better foot."
A long stretch of silence. Stelle carefully considered her words, forcing herself to think as though she was Dan Heng. It was odd for her, yes, but understandable. After antagonising allies that had proven to be useful and important, she would naturally attempt to mend the bridges she had nearly burned. Accepting this offer would be favourable to both sides.
She came to a conclusion soon enough. With a sigh, she answered,
"...as long as you don't try something like that again, then fine. I accept."
The Dressmaster lit up at her words.
"I will not. You have my word," she responded. She leaned against the backrest, something close to relief flitting across her face.
"You know…I was quite surprised when you came here of your own accord. I had not been expecting you to be so amiable towards me." She ended the sentence with a light chuckle that made Stelle's heart swoop again. Unsure of how to respond, she only laughed along with her, draining the cup in her hand. Truth was, she too had surprised herself when the thought came unbidden to her mind. She still didn't have an explanation for the whim.
Alright, maybe she did have an explanation, but it was far too embarrassing to admit.
"Now that that's settled, shall we return to your lessons, then?" Aglaea asked, pushing her saucer aside.
"I—well, it's getting...rather late. I don't think we'll be able to, uh, make much progress—" besides revealing just how bad she was at hand-eye coordination, "—so how about we just...talk for a bit?"
It was a flimsy excuse, yes, but as far as she knew, the blonde could only read minds when the golden threads were entwined with the other person. Perhaps she might be able to retain some dignity yet.
"...Talk, for a bit?"
"Yeah—like a chat. Just a casual chat to spend away the rest of the Hour."
Aglaea looked at her curiously, as though she were attempting to examine the intentions of the artist behind an abstract illustration. After a couple moments of pondering, she sighed.
"Alright. Let us chat, then."
Stelle didn't quite know where the time had gone. The teapot only had dregs to spare now, their last cups growing cold as Stelle chattered on about the museum she had managed off on Belobog. Aglaea had a certain charm to her, which encouraged conversation even during awkward moments of silence and persuaded her to elaborate on some of her adventures beyond the stars. She was rather interested in her tales, asking her relevant questions and nodding along to the following tangents that she'd undoubtedly stray off into. If Stelle paid more attention to her, she might've noticed how she had grown more relaxed than she had ever known the woman to be, leaning forward with her back slumped and eyes slowly blinking.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something streak across the auburn skies. Breaking off the end of her sentence, she turned towards the wide windows. Shooting through the canopy of clouds, a spark of white soared, its tail trailing far behind it.
"A thief comet. Seems as though Entry Hour has begun."
"So soon?" came unbidden from her lips. Aglaea smiled wryly at her, straightening up in her seat.
"Yes, it does feel as though Oronyx has grown impatient. You should leave for your chambers soon. It would certainly spark discussions if our heroic outlander is spotted leaving a Chrysos Heir's residence at this Hour."
"Fair—I suppose I'll get going, then," Stelle conceded quickly, getting up from her seat. She refused to give her the satisfaction of spotting the blush that'd sprouted along her face.
As she made her way to the towering entrance doors, she couldn't help but feel saddened. She may have spent away most of the night by Aglaea's side, yes, but it still felt far too soon for departure.
"Perhaps we can continue our lessons next week. How does that sound?" Aglaea called out right as she placed her hand on the handle. She's half convinced that the woman could read minds, even without joining them together with her threads. The offer made her perk up nonetheless, and she turned around to shoot her a smile.
"Yeah, that'd be great. Text me the time, then." She opened the doors as she spoke. There was already a bit of activity outside, light chatter and the chirps of birds filling the air. Aglaea hummed in agreement, wishing her safe travels moments before the door clicked shut.
The grey-haired woman slowly rose from her bed, a fist rubbing lucidity into her eyes. Her sleep has gotten better, thankfully, but she still found herself waking up restless during Curtain-Fall Hour. Perhaps a walk outside would do her good, she thought, which was what led her to push open the door with a drowsy arm, her other hand coming up to muffle her yawn.
But the thing about Curtain-Fall Hour is that all the curtains in Okhema would be drawn, all the lamps and torches snuffed out so as to ensure a peaceful sleep for the inhabitants. Due to the resulting darkness, she did not see that something had been kept carefully outside her doorstep, which led to her ungracefully eating the marble tile.
Groaning from the fall (the sheer noise she had made as she landed probably woke up the entire city), she pawed around to find what it was that had the gall to humiliate her so. As her hands groped around the object, she found that it was a box. A decently large one, too.
As a devout follower of Akivili, Aeon of the Trailblaze and exploration and discovery and all that jazz that she doesn't remember, any sort of mysterious box was bound to intrigue her. So, deciding to forgive the blasphemy it had committed against her pride, she brought it back into the private chambers. Carefully tiptoeing around the faintly snoring Dan Heng, who somehow was not awoken by the racket, she slipped past the wide curtains and into the balcony.
It took a minute or so for her eyes to adjust to the bright light. With the faint rumbling of the river as her accompaniment, she hoisted the box onto the banister. As she turned the brown package around, she found that there was no note, no indication of who it had been sent by. It only served to pique her curiosity further.
Done with her inspection of the package, she finally untied the lashing and opened it.
She did a double-take when she saw its contents. She took it out of the box, letting it unravel fully to the floor. She blinked several times as she held it out in front of her. No, she wasn't hallucinating.
It was the dress. The dress that Aglaea had been drafting up those couple days ago.
She rubbed a piece of fabric between her fingers. It was impossibly soft on her skin, yet when she looked at it from certain angles, it seemed to glimmer in the sunlight. The flowing cape was translucent, a few applique butterflies perched upon its mother-of-pearl sheen. The light breeze tugged on it, making it bellow behind the rest of the outfit. For a moment, she considered swatting at the butterflies to check if one of them was a cheeky nymph, only to remember that she had decided to enforce a nymph-hunt-decree and chase down all of the pesky little critters within the past couple days. There weren't any left unaccounted for now, thank the Aeons.
And the garment itself; it was a masterful creation, even to her unartistic eyes that lacked the knowledge to truly appreciate such a piece. The pleats were gathered in even bunches, falling down the length of the dress in all the most flattering ways. She couldn't find any seams along the contours of the garment, which somehow appeared to be perfectly tailored according to her form.
It was longer than her current skirt, yet the cut was such that it would not hinder her mobility in the slightest. The single sleeve was stitched in a similar manner, its flowy nature and another cut along its side serving to permit full rotation of her arms. And woven into the dress were many embroidered details, each one of them contributing to the floral motif of the piece.
Peering into the box again, she found a few extra accessories that had been kept beneath the gown. A pair of gloves that appeared delicate enough to compliment the rich glittering of the gown, yet was still firm enough to be practical. A leafy elven diadem that much resembled a certain blonde's headpiece.
And finally, a tiny, ripped off bit of paper left in the bottom of the box. Carefully balancing all the gifts that she'd received in her right hand, she picked up the note with her left and turned it over. It revealed a careful cursive that read,
Thank you, my dear Stelle, for your assistance and company.
Despite the cool wind caressing her face, her cheeks grew warm and red. Her fingers dug creases into the note as she imagined the Dressmaster writing those words, her perfectly manicured digits gliding across its surface. She looked back at the outfit, which had Aglaea's talent and care in every stitch and every fiber of the cloth. She returned to the note.
...Thank you, my dear Stelle...
A shaky laugh was pulled out of her. Goodness, this woman might just be the death of her.