Page 22 of A Dress for the Wicked
“Why ‘happiness’?” Alice asked. Her voice was so girlish, she sounded much younger than she was, and, with her ringlets and bows, she looked much younger too.
“It ties in with the crane feathers,” Ky replied. For once, her competitive manner eased, and she touched the swirlingH. “In Japan, cranes are the birds of happiness.”
“Oh, how sweet!” Alice said. “I’ve always wanted a crane. I’d tie a ribbon around its neck and walk it around the city.”
I stared at Alice, wondering if she was serious or not. It was hard to believe her bubbly, vapid personality could be real, yet I’d never seen her act any other way.
“This is a red-crowned crane,” Ky said sharply. “It’s not the sort of creature you’d treat in such a way.”
“Touchy, touchy,” Alice purred. She spun around and flitted back to her coat.
Ky rolled her eyes and carefully tied off her thread. She ran a finger around the outline of the crane, a wistful look coming over her face. Perhaps she missed Japan. I could only imagine how strange it would be to be raised in two different countries. How would one know where one belonged?
Even though I’d never set foot outside the country (before now, the farthest I’d ever been was Talley, the small town just past Evert), I felt a strange kinship with Ky. I never belonged in Shy, and I wasn’t so sure I belonged in Avon-upon-Kynt, either. Though Ky never said as much, I understood that wistful expression. It was longing—for her old home, most likely, but maybe also for something else. A place that didn’t exist for her... or me.
I turned back to my coat, forcing myself to focus. I’d made sure every stitch was precise and the fit was perfect. I’d created a strong piece, one with masterful tailoring. Even so, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the coat wasn’t quite right.
The next day came quickly. Like the morning before, Sophie was gone when I woke up. Unlike the morning before, I managed to rise before Tilda came in, and picked out my own clothes. I’d been at Tilda’s mercy twice before and I was quite done with it. By the time she arrived, I’d decided on a simple peachy-pink-colored dress. It still wasn’t a hue I liked—the soft orangey-pink tones reminded me of a grandmother—but the design was elegant enough.
I was so nervous that I skipped breakfast and went straight to the sewing room. A lone girl was in it: Sophie. The room was quiet aside from the soft squeak of her mannequin as she adjusted its height. The coats stood like headless (quite fashionable) ghosts.
I walked over to mine. At least it wasn’t pink. But then, it wasn’t much more “me” than the ridiculously peachy-pink dress I stood in.
The other girls soon came in, each one heading to her station. Nervous, tense silence filled the room as we made our final alterations.
I thought there would be some sort of official announcement before our work time concluded and the evaluations began, but as I was tacking down the last bit of fringe on my coat, the doorsto the sewing room were suddenly flung open. I jumped back, startled.
Madame Jolène entered like a monarch at the head of a royal procession. She wore a sky-blue gown painted with red leaves and gold birds. A sheer piece of shimmering fabric draped from her shoulders, flouncing behind her with each step she took. Her presence sent my heart into my throat, and I barely managed to tie off my thread.
Her sewing staff, in identical frilled dresses, and Francesco, who sported a hat adorned in red feathers, hurried along behind her, all jockeying for position near her. One of her designers got too close, though, and brushed her skirt. Madame Jolène didn’t turn around, but she arched one eyebrow and the entire entourage froze. She kept moving, and they immediately redoubled their efforts to get close.
They came to the front of the room and faced us. Madame Jolène stepped forward.
“Ladies!” Her commanding voice resonated through the sewing room. “We will evaluate your fall coats one at a time. Starting with...” I expected her to proceed to Ky, who was closest to her, but instead she scanned the room. “Emmaline.”
Me? I was going first? She stepped around the rows of desks, moving lithely until she was right in front of me.
“I—” Frantically, stupidly, I felt like I needed to say something. She held up her hand for silence and stared at my coat for a long moment. I didn’t know where to look or where to even put my hands. The quiet stretched on, everyone waiting and watching. I stood there, feeling the excruciating length of eachsecond, desperately wanting to point out that my coat was well made and that it truly embodied the Fashion House look.
At least I could be certain of that. The coat was thick and voluminous with gray feathers sewn around the neckline and a detachable cape. Fringe trimmed the cuffs, tacked in place with the braided cord.
“Very...” Madame Jolène drew out the word. I held my breath, hoping against hope that she would love it. “Classic with subtle details.”
My heart leaped, suspended between hope and terror.
“Write that down,” one of her designers hissed to the other.
“No need to write it down,” Madame Jolène said. “Ladies!” she swiveled away from me to address the other girls. “This coat is well made and has some distinctive elements, like this fringe.” She brushed the fringe with one finger, making it dance. “But this is the Fashion House Interview. Overall, there is nothing memorable about the coat, and it is quite substandard. In addition, the feathers were used in an expected way, when we wanted to see them given new life.”
Madame Jolène’s designers nodded sternly, as though they’d been thinking the same thing the whole time.
Nothing memorable. Quite substandard. Expected.
I wanted to explain. I wanted to tell her that I was just trying to give her what she wanted and that I could do so much better. Staring at the coat, seeing it through her eyes, I hated it more than I’d hated anything before. I wanted to will it away and replace it with the nude-and-black coat I’d originally drawn.
“I... I was trying to go for an iconic look.” My voice wasas wispy as the feathers adorning my coat. Across the way, Ky smirked, while Kitty looked at me with sympathy. Alice blinked several times, as though she wasn’t quite following what was happening. “And, personally, I think that the feathers—”
“I am not interested in your explanations, Emmaline,” Madame Jolène said. “I am only interested in your designs, and this one has spoken for itself.” Invigorated by our exchange, she turned on her heel. “Moving on!”
