"Are you quite finished jabbing me in the hip with pins?" I demand testily of the clumsy maids who are currently trying to fit me for my wedding dress. I am not certain we ve decided on the exact design for that exalted garment--I am determined to have straps or sleeves of some sort, while the couturiers insist that I ought to wear a strapless dress with some sort of wrapper--and so I am not sure what the point of these fittings might be, but far be it from me to argue with Zinaida s decisions, after she treated me so kindly yesterday at luncheon.
"So sorry, milady," the offending maid stammers as she tries once again to get the pin through the white fabric (which I find more than a bit itchy) without also piercing my skin.
"We re almost finished with today s fitting session, Aerys, I promise," Malina assures me. She seems worn down. I haven t seen much of her lately. I wonder what they ve been making her do that has her so tired.