I am beginning to suspect I am being sold.
Not literally.
Probably.
At least I hope not.
Today began with Ryn introducing me to a woman named Madam Stella.
According to Ryn, she is a professional fashion designer.
Those words alone were enough to make me nervous.
Fortunately, Madam Stella turned out to be surprisingly kind.
So was her staff.
This immediately lowered my guard.
In hindsight, this may have been another mistake.
Only today did I finally learn the contents of the mysterious boxes Ryn had ordered weeks ago.
Clothes.
Many clothes.
More specifically—
my clothes.
One of the large boxes was handed directly to Madam Stella.
Then Ryn calmly instructed me to follow her.
No further explanation was provided.
Naturally.
Several minutes later I found myself inside a private preparation room surrounded by professional tailors.
This should have warned me.
Instead, I sat down willingly.
Again.
I continue making remarkably similar mistakes.
The next two hours passed in a blur.
Measurements.
Adjustments.
Fabric.
Hair.
Jewelry.
More fabric.
At one point I attempted to relax my posture.
Madam Stella immediately corrected it.
Firmly.
Not enough to feel rude.
Not enough to feel forceful.
Just enough to communicate that resistance was futile.
I sat straighter afterward.
Apparently this pleased her.
The outfit itself was beautiful.
A long layered dress.
Ivory beneath.
Dark forest green above.
Gold embroidery.
Decorative filigree.
A high collar.
Wide flowing sleeves.
Jewelry centered around a blue-green gemstone.
A leather belt dividing the silhouette neatly at the waist.
The skirt nearly touched the floor.
The fabrics themselves came from Moonfen and the Capital.
Madam Stella explained every detail enthusiastically.
Normally I would have forgotten most of it.
Unfortunately, enthusiasm remains one of my greatest weaknesses.
People who genuinely love something are difficult to ignore.
So I listened.
For the entire two hours.
I now know considerably more about textile craftsmanship than I expected to learn this year.
The hair proved even more complicated.
Small braids.
A larger braid.
A low bun.
Decorative flowers.
Leaves.
Several accessories whose purpose I never fully understood.
The final result looked surprisingly natural despite requiring what appeared to be military-level coordination.
Somewhere in the middle of all this, I was also bathed.
Thoroughly.
Painfully thoroughly.
The water smelled wonderful.
The scrubbing felt less wonderful.
By the end I was reasonably certain parts of my skin had become cleaner than originally intended.
Eventually Madam Stella presented a mirror.
I stared.
Then blinked.
Then stared again.
The woman looking back at me appeared oddly familiar.
Which was reassuring.
Because for a moment I feared she might not.
Instead she looked like me.
Just significantly more expensive.
I considered this carefully.
Then reached a conclusion.
If I was truly expected to accompany a princess, perhaps this level of preparation made sense.
After all, it would be unfortunate if a servant embarrassed royalty through poor presentation.
The logic seemed reasonable.
The fact that everyone immediately looked relieved when I reached this conclusion should probably concern me more than it does.
At some point, Ryn requested something else.
The White Fox Mask.
Again.
I retrieved it from my Infinity Bag.
Ryn examined it.
Then instructed me to put it on.
I complied.
Several moments passed.
Ryn nodded.
Madam Stella nodded.
Half the room nodded.
Everyone appeared satisfied.
I remained completely uninformed.
The mask was eventually removed and returned to my bag.
No explanation followed.
Naturally.
Meanwhile, Old Shard spent part of the afternoon cleaning my Infinity Bag.
This sounds ridiculous.
It becomes more ridiculous when I mention he treated the process with the seriousness of a religious ceremony.
When he finally returned it, the bag looked almost new.
I did not even know that was possible.
I thanked him.
He looked deeply pleased with himself.
Which, admittedly, felt nice.
Now evening approaches.
The appointed time grows closer.
Soon I am expected to meet the Caravan Master.
Specifically in front of the Church of the Sun.
This remains a strange choice.
I visited that church nearly a year ago.
Back when I first arrived in Dunskar.
Back when I knew almost nothing.
The plaza is enormous.
Crowded.
Public.
If two people wish to speak privately, there are approximately one thousand better locations.
An inn, for example.
We are literally staying in one.
Yet here we are.
Preparing for a meeting beside one of the busiest landmarks in the city.
Everything about this continues feeling unnecessarily dramatic.
Which unfortunately means it is probably important.
I have spent the last several hours preparing myself mentally.
Because when I see the Caravan Master again—
I intend to be angry.
Properly angry.
About the mask.
About the things he never explained.
About certain conversations.
About several months of accumulated frustration.
I do not know exactly what I will say.
But I will say something.
I have resolved myself.
Completely.
Absolutely.
Without hesitation.
The moment I see him—
I am going to tell him exactly how disappointed I am.
Then, after that, I will politely request permission to rejoin the caravan.
A perfectly reasonable plan.
I feel considerably better now that I have decided.
Soon I will leave for the Church of the Sun.
Soon I will see the Caravan Master again.
And soon—
I will finally get some answers.
Probably.
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