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The mirror mocks Blue.
No, it doesn't! interjects Red. You're just nervous.
Blue rolls their eyes and grumbles, "Why shouldn't I be? Anyone could walk in on us."
We've locked the door, Green reassures.
"Do you really think they"—the Chain, their brothers in arms, this one space where they aren't the strangest in the room—"wouldn't just break it down if they got back before we were done?"
Violet frowns. The sensation of its primly pursed lips is strange on Blue's face. It's fine, though. She's used to it. "If they didn't respect our need for privacy, no amount of camaraderie would stop me from tearing them a new one. We won't let anyone ruin this for you, Blue."
Blue's eyes prickle. It sure is dusty in here. She fidgets with her skirts.
Oh, yeah, the dress, Blue thinks, as if she could have possibly forgotten why they were locked in a rented room in Castle Town instead of with the others.
Blue revisits the mirror. Their reflection is still… complicated.
Blue scrunches her face, breaking the stern lines of Violet's expression.
Do a spin! Red pipes up, with bright laughter in her voice. She's always had an easier time with this part of them than Blue has. Unbidden, memories of trying to crush Red's lively tenderness come to Blue.
At least one of the girls is happy, Violet thinks wryly, pushing Blue's mental images down. Blue feels a pang of gratitude toward Violet for putting the thoughts away, tinged with bitterness at being pushed around in her own head.
Please, Red insists.
Blue obligingly does a spin. The flare of the dress—a long, light square of navy blue, plainly draped past their ankles—is gorgeous, until it reveals their calves.
Blue abruptly stares at the ceiling, desperately trying to feel less humiliated about the prickly new growth of hair on her recently shaved legs; refusing to notice any more of the ways she obviously isn't meant to be wearing this dress. Goddesses, she looks ridiculous. No one could possibly take her seriously.
Her vision blurs around the edges.
Red, who has elected to be excited because otherwise she'll join Blue in the realm of wanting to jump out a window, wants to stare at the dress some more. She squishes past Blue to get into their body.
Gosh, does Red like this dress! Its little cap sleeves give her shoulders the most delightful slender silhouette.
Blue mopes in the corner of her mind. Red reaches with one hand to hold the other, squeezing it like it's Blue's. Blue's presence shifts into that hand, and they stand together for a moment, swaying under the weight of wanting this—the dress, each other's hands, peace—and not knowing how to keep it.
"Can I try on the skirt?" asks Red softly, as if she's afraid to disturb the dust of the room by breathing too hard.
Blue hesitates, then nods their head. Red releases their other hand. Blue reaches back and squeezes it one more time before letting Red have both of their hands.
Red smiles, something small and private, and turns to the bag. The dress is tight around their midriff, and Red struggles with the laces for a moment before letting it drop. Now, if she looks, the mirror really will mock her with lean hardness.
Red shrugs their tunic on and pulls up the skirt. She especially likes this piece: it's a shade of warm walnut like their leather belt, pleated, ending just above the knees.
Red spins for herself this time—oh, it's so lovely! The hair of their legs is imperceptible; it's only the rub of them together that prickles at all.
It's still there, Blue insists.
Red, accustomed to Blue holding their body and her specifically to unattainable standards, nods patiently. She watches the swish of the skirt in the mirror as she waits for Blue to come around.
And then she does: …but it's nice, admits Blue.
Red smiles warmly and laces their hands together again. The crinkle of her face in the mirror melts Blue around the edges. "It is, isn't it."