Tailoring Clothes

The Smith family's textile chamber smelled of fresh silk and simmering scheming. Rolls of fabric cascaded from ceiling to floor like frozen rainbows—deep emeralds, blush pinks, and a particularly audacious bolt of gold that screamed Look at me, I'm marrying a crown prince! Ella lingered near the doorway, watching her cousins Amy and Cindy flutter around the Third Branch's seamstress, Claire, like hyperactive butterflies.

Grace swept in with Madison, her personal aide, trailing behind like a storm cloud in peach satin. "Darling Ella!" Grace sang, her smile sharp enough to slice silk. "Do pick your fabric first! We've reserved the finest for your discerning taste."

Madison nodded briskly, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle from her sash. "Honor the eldest, of course."

Amy twirled, her lilac skirts fanning out. "Oh, Ella must choose something bold—she's practically invisible at banquets!" Her brother, lurking by the door like a poorly dressed gargoyle, snorted.

Ella ignored them, fingers brushing a roll of deep lotus blue—the color of midnight lakes and quiet rebellion.

"Lotus blue?" Madison gasped, clutching her pearls. "But that's… traditional. Mortifyingly so!"

Grace sighed, feigning concern. "Sweetling, it ages you a decade. Jade white would soften your… intensity."

Claire, the seamstress, timidly unspooled a shimmering ivory fabric. "With pearls at the hem, my lady? Very… pure."

Pure, like a sacrificial lamb, Ella thought. In her past life, she'd drowned in virginal whites while her cousins dripped ruby and sapphire.

Amy giggled. "Imagine the whispers: Poor Ella's dressed like a widow!"

"Or a ghost," Cindy added, smirking.

Ella held the lotus blue to her shoulders, meeting Claire's gaze in the mirror. The seamstress stiffened—a flicker of recognition that this color hadn't been worn since Ella's mother's time.

"Your mother adored jade white," Grace pressed, voice syrupy. "Such a fitting tribute."

"Funny," Ella said, turning slowly. "I don't recall Mother ever letting others dictate her wardrobe." 

She arched a brow at Claire. "Can you stitch lotus blue with silver thread? Subtly rebellious?"

Claire's lips twitched. "Like moonlit waves crashing against shore, my lady."

Grace's smile cracked. "You'll look dated, child."

"Better dated than predictable," Ella purred. "Jade white suits those afraid of shadows, Aunt. But I?" She nodded to Claire. "I prefer to remind the court that even midnight has teeth."

Amy's grin faltered. Cindy's sneer wilted.

As Claire measured the fabric, Ella caught Madison muttering to Grace: "Who does she think she is—the Empress?"

Close, Ella thought, biting back a grin. But why spoil the surprise?

Later, in the courtyard…

Claire hesitated, her scissors pausing mid-air. "My lady… this design will draw… attention."

Ella plucked a spool of silver thread. "Good. Let them stare."

A cough startled them. Ethan Davis leaned against the archway, arms folded, armor gleaming. "Midnight blue? How delightfully… non-assassin-like."

Ella tossed him a scrap of fabric. "Compliments? From a man who wears battle grime as cologne?"

He caught it, grinning. "I'd rather smell like victory than roses."

"Then you'll reek of arrogance forever."

Their laughter tangled, sharp and bright, as the lotus blue rippled like a challenge in the wind.