Banner, Seams, and Tensions

Dawn caught Veronika in a different bed—wider and softer than the last. She'd slept like an angel, or so she thought until the door swung open without ceremony. She turned her head, annoyed, and found Anna standing there, a bunch of keys jingling in time with her steady breathing.

—Did you sleep well? —Anna asked, a trace of sarcasm in her voice.Veronika straightened up on the mattress, brow furrowed.

—Do you know what knocking is, you nosy witch?!—Knock? —Anna lifted the keyring with a faint metallic clink—. In case you forgot, I control every door. Including yours.The redhead muttered a curse as she got to her feet, lips twisting with disgust.—What a privilege, huh? Go to hell.Anna, unruffled, shot her a cold look.—Don't think that red ribbon makes you any better than me.Veronika chose not to answer. She'd half-learned that talking back only stretched pointless fights. She settled for cursing under her breath while she clumsily slipped on her shoes.

—And where are we going now?—To get you a new uniform —Anna announced—. You're joining a different block, so you have to look the part.Veronika wrinkled her nose.—You mean those ridiculously short skirts some of the girls wear? Give me something classier. I hate parading around like a shop-window doll.—Maybe you should've thought of that before signing a contract you never read —Anna shot back, turning to leave the room. The redhead followed, feeling mocked.—Damn it… —Veronika muttered, suppressing the urge to yell.

As they walked a long corridor of spotless white walls, Veronika noticed the absence of male figures.—Anna, something's bugging me. I've been in this mansion a short time and I haven't seen any men, except the Master and the odd visitor. Isn't that a security risk?—There are men who work for the Master, just not inside the mansion. —Anna smiled wryly—. In here, the staff is all-female.—So the Master's a fetishist… —Veronika murmured, not bothering to hide her contempt.

Anna didn't reply. She simply quickened her step until they reached a wide room filled with worktables, mannequins, and bolts of fabric. Two tall, stern-faced women approached the moment Veronika crossed the threshold, giving her no time to protest.

—What the hell—? —she blurted, as they guided her toward a metal frame that clamped around her waist and wrists, locking her in place.—Please don't scream. It's protocol —one woman said in a clinical, almost bored tone.Veronika shivered with rage and vulnerability.—Protocol? You're insane! Why on earth do you have to strap me in?—So you don't move and throw off the measurements —explained the other, whipping out a tape as she felt Veronika's hip—. The suit has to fit perfectly.—Ever heard of doing this the normal way? —Veronika grimaced as the seamstresses' hands roamed her chest and waist—. This is humiliating.—It'll be over soon. —Anna stood off to the side, arms crossed.

The seamstresses' fingers traced every contour without the slightest modesty, as though examining her under a lens. One—tall and almost military—measured her bust, noting figures in a gray-covered notebook.—Eighty centimeters, —she muttered in a mechanical timbre—. Continue.The other slid the tape around Veronika's waist, stopping at her navel.—Sixty… —she announced, utterly emotionless.Trapped in the metal rig, Veronika simmered. She couldn't swing a fist or spit an insult, only glare sideways at Anna, who remained impassive.—Enjoying this, aren't you? —Veronika said, careful not to move her head.—As long as it's quick, —Anna replied coolly—, nobody stresses too much.The last measurement came at her hips, the tape cinched with surgical precision.—Eighty-five, —the seamstress murmured, finishing her notes.—Interesting… —Anna mused, sidling up with an air of superiority—. At least your face and those numbers are the only good things you've got.

She seized Veronika's chin, forcing eye contact. Humiliation flashed in the green eyes locked on hers; Veronika tried to jerk away, but the frame held her fast.—Let me go, you— —she hissed, defiant.Anna's smile was barely there.—Relax. You'll be out of here soon.

With a click, the seamstresses freed the straps and Veronika staggered forward. Instinctively she swung to slap Anna, but a broad-shouldered guard caught her wrist mid-air with near-military precision.

—Easy, Kensington, —the guard's neutral voice rang out—. We've still got work.Breathing hard, Veronika watched one seamstress hold out a black dress with white accents on the shoulders—shiny fabric—and a dark choker to match. The skirt, short and tight, hugged every curve. Anna stepped up, dangling the red ribbon she'd pulled from a nearby drawer.

—Get dressed, —she ordered.Face burning, Veronika changed behind an improvised curtain. Seeing her reflection, she pressed her lips thin: the black dress, white shoulders, and collar at her throat looked elegant—too provocative for her taste. Anna whisked the curtain aside and, just as coldly, tied the red ribbon around her neck to finish the look.

—Marks you as part of this "select" block, —she commented, fingers sinking into the ribbon before letting go.Veronika stared at the mirror with a mix of disgust and resignation.—Couldn't be more obvious, —she whispered—. Like branding "object" on my skin.Anna tilted her head, not bothering to argue.—The rules in that contract you signed are clear. You knew——I knew nothing, —Veronika cut in, pride stung—. But whatever: I'm here now, and I'm the prettiest one, right?—You flaunt your looks as if they're a superpower, —Anna retorted, distant gaze fixed on her—. We'll see how far they get you in this mansion.Veronika snorted, ego showing:—At least I've got that charm—not like those nobodies fluttering around.—Keep believing it, —Anna shot back, the irony undisguised.

With a jerk, the guard slid the metal frame aside, clearing the way. The seamstresses gathered tapes and papers, dodging Veronika's glare as if she were a passing oddity. A curt gesture from Anna pointed to the exit, and the redhead, the red ribbon snug at her throat, strode forward.