Chapter Thirty-Six: The Seamstress And Her Pupil (Part I)

The Grand Masquerade ball was only a day away and Tyria was igniting with euphoric smiles and glimmering eyes. The market streets were flooded with beaming citizens; ladies raved over flamboyant gowns, men slid a hand over ornate garbs and children squealed with delight. 

The three wizards shouldered past a sea of scuttling citizens, eyes peeled open and devouring the celebration licking the atmosphere. A saccharine stench lingered in the wind, tickling Ayra's senses. She didn't fail to notice the glossy masks pinched below every palm around. It was a thrilling reminder and a dreadful admonition; one that fate would carefully reveal tomorrow night. 

Neslyn squeezed herself between her friends and snared both her arms around theirs, chuckling giddily. 

"I understand this is the wrong time and situation to tell this, but it has been ages since we went shopping together! For a ball at that!" 

Ayra took a gander at her from the corner of her eye and smirked, "You're right,"

Neslyn beamed, "I know--"

"---it is the wrong time and situation to tell this." 

Neslyn opened her mouth and closed it again, seemingly dumbfounded. Ayra chuckled and shook her head. Valda tipped her head back and laughed like a wheezing mongrel, so loud that passerbyes shot odd looks at them. The healer scowled deeply in response. 

"Why am I friends with you two?" Neslyn huffed and folded her arms. Valda and Ayra shared a teasing look before shrugging.

It was like old times, just them and their silly banter. Even if realms collided or universes clashed, Ayra was confident that the three of them would find moments to steal their own pocket of short-lived and fleeting happiness. 

Her smile faltered when a figure harshly shoved past her. She whipped around and frowned, eyes locking onto the back of a cloaked figure. They stopped and slightly turned their head. She caught a whiff of blonde hair underneath the hood before the figure abruptly turned and disappeared into the livid crowd. 

"Ayra!" Valda called out. 

She snapped her head around to see Valda and Neslyn a few feet ahead. With one final look back, she sauntered towards them. 

"Why did you stop?" Neslyn asked. 

Ayra simply shook her head, fighting the urge to glance back into the crowd again. 

"Anyways, here we are. The lady at the inn told us that this boutique is the best one around town."

Delore's boutique was a dainty little shop wedged between two, rudely soaring brick buildings. Modish and elegant, it was painted in the lightest hues of milky olives and satiny goldens. Pastel-petaled floral pots lined each side of the polished entryway and below the large glass displaying ornate and lavish garbs and duds.

Ayra was certain that once they step out, they'd have successfully tracked down the ideal attire for the occasion.

Valda gestured to the 'open' board and reached out an arm towards the door. But before she could even brush her fingers against the handle, the door ripped open and a heap of clothes came flying out, directly crashing into the witch. 

She went down with a loud 'oomph', gravity hauling with her another soul who happened to be carrying the stack of clothes. 

Ayra could notice a small, braided haired figure amidst all the clothes. The witch, however, had completely disappeared under the sea of fabric and another body. 

The small woman tried to lift herself up, but her feet slipper against the sleek cobblestones, gravity pulling her forward again. Valda wheezed out when she was pressed against the ground once more.

Ayra and Neslyn took that as a sign to help the two souls, all the while preventing their lips to twist into a comical grin. 

The door to the boutique ripped open and an older woman stormed out. With wide eyes, she immediately drank in the passive disaster. 

"Pray tell what in the heavenly Celestials is going on here?!" 

The young woman quickly straightened to her feet and wiped her clammy hand down her the front of her thistle hued gown. When the three wizards took in the younger lady's flushed expression and the older one's displeased one, they immediately recognised them from the tavern. 

Ayra amusedly wondered if that pup was around too. 

The older woman's eyes widened at the clothes on the ground and Ayra almost believed her eyes to pop out of the sockets any moment now. 

"Oh Celestials above, my clothes! My poor clothes! They've gotten all dirty and stained!"

The young lady dipped her chin apologetically. Her lips wobbled and her twitching fingers tangled together in dread. 

"I'm sorry--"

The older woman glared furiously at her and she snapped her mouth shut. 

"You don't do anything right, do you?!" She yelled with a gruff voice, her already wrinkled forehead deepening in response to her disapproving gaze. 

The young lady opened her mouth but no words came out. She swallowed and remained staring at the ground with glazed eyes.

"Actually," Ayra started calmly, smiling a little when the older woman shifted her glare towards her, "it was our fault. We happened to be in her way and she didn't see us. We apologize for that."

The woman scrutinised her from head to toe before sliding her gaze to the other two. 

"And who might you people be?" 

Ayra's smile didn't waver. "Customers, if we had entered your boutique." 

The owner of the boutique immediately straightened upon hearing those enchanted words. She folded one palm over the other and looked at her with a glint in those aged eyes. Ayra mentally smirked, well-aware of the fact that the older woman was readying herself to sell her priced goods. 

"Gracious my, what pretty women." She smiled a practised one before continuing,

"My collection will look splendid on all three of you. Yes yes, I see it. I already see you three wearing my dresses and glowing at the ball tomorrow! You--" She bit out, immediately dropping her act when she turned towards the young lady, "--take them to our other boutique at the end of the street and show them our new collection specially made for the Masquerade Ball." 

The young lady hastily nodded and reached out for the clothes lying on the cobblestones. The older woman harshly swatted her hand away. 

"Don't touch them. You'll only ruin my clothes even more. Just do as I say." She snapped with a tight voice. 

The young lady nodded hastily and offered a shaky smile at the three wizards. 

"Please follow me. It's this way."

Ayra, Valda and Neslyn shared a sympathetic look before following her. 

Wordlessly, the young lady led them to the other boutique. The three wizards didn't bother with small talk, they knew she needed time after what happened. But when they were halfway towards the store, the young lady hesitantly looked over them and spoke,

"I'm sorry you had to see that. I'm not usually this clumsy."

Ayra fought the urge to smile sympathetically when she realised what she was doing. It was damage control, in the most professional way. The three wizards understood that and went along.

"Oh, don't worry about that," Valda said easily, "I was equally at fault too. Besides, I was more afraid of that lady back there. Is she always like that?"

The young lady's brown eyes dimmed.

"Oh, aunt Delores isn't always like that," she shielded pitifully.

Valda shook her head, amused.

"It's okay. If I had an aunt like that, I would drink myself to oblivion too."

The young lady quickly whipped her head, bewildered.

"How---when--no, why--" She fumbled helplessly, cheeks colouring with embarrassment.

Ayra and Neslyn fought the urge to smack the witch.

"We just happened to be at the tavern and see the entire thing," the healer conceded, smiling remorsefully.

The young lady covered her face, "Oh no, this is embarrassing."

With an awkward chuckle, she just wandered ahead. Ayra and Neslyn glared at Valda, who blinked innocently.

After a minute of walking, the young lady slid to a halt and gestured ahead with an apprehensive smile. Without meeting their eyes, she muttered a soft,

"We're here." 

It was Delore's boutique, but this one was bigger and fancier. Milky pastels were replaced with rich, dark wood. The gold, however, stayed--the intricate satiny lines running along the polished wood offering a more opulent front. 

They entered the store and were immediately drawn by the well-endowed place. Lush red carpets swept under their feet, pristine walls displayed mahogany-framed paintings, and exuberant gowns lined the wooden racks. Ayra dragged a hand along the smooth fabric of an array of dresses, seemingly impressed with the colours and the quality that greeted her. 

A long lost giddy feeling rushed to her heart, gifting her with momentary excitement. 

The three wizards went their separate ways, hunting for their own 'perfect' dress for the ball tomorrow. Ayra slowly strolled along every rack, eyes admiringly sweeping over a multitude of glorious hues. It was a treat to her eyes; the robin blues, the solid pewters, the glowing nectars, the pure ivories and the sinful reds. 

Sooner than expected, Ayra found herself wavering. There was so much to choose from, so much to wear and flaunt and love, yet it was unimaginable for her to choose 'the one'.

She spotted an amethyst coloured gown and gradually walked over to it. However, after taking two long strides, she slowly halted when something caught her eye. 

Ayra turned her head and stilled almost eerily. By the far corner of the store, she spotted a gown. A silver-kissed gown that seemed to call out to her. With its long-laced arms, the high neck, skin-tight bodice and bouffant skirt, it screamed elegance in the most grandiose way. A high slit ran up one of the sides of the gown, stopping just a teasing whisper away from revealing too much. It was simple, yet regal. Sensuous, but demure. Made for a queen, but also a lady. It was her 'perfect' dress. 

Even as Ayra swiped a gentle hand over the smooth fabric, she refused to believe the true reason why this piercing silver dress caught her eye.

"Did you find your dress, Ayra?" Neslyn called out from a distance. 

Ayra shook herself from her thoughts, gleaming eyes roving over the dress again. She gently pinched the fabric between her fingers and allowed her lips to pull itself into a small, albeit knowing smile. 

Yes. Yes, she had found her dress. Her suit. And her armour for the Grand Masquerade Ball tomorrow.