Page 12 of Arcanist
Modern clothing is ghastly.
“Why did I never notice how chilly the Arcanaeum was before I tried out a miniskirt for the first time?” I ask the room, pausing to polish off another of the breadsticks that Eddy brought up a short while ago. “Ed lient.”
The hem drops to my ankles, and for good measure, I conjure a petticoat.
“No, no. That won’t do.” The outfit in the mirror is far too close to what I wore before. People nowadays label such things as frumpy. “Ugh. Why did I send Eddy away again?”
The Arcanaeum rustles with laughter, even as the temperature adjusts accordingly.
“Thank you,” I whisper, then startle as a familiar sequin-covered blue dress appears, hanging from the mirror in front of me. “Oh, well, that’s hardly appropriate…”
The hanger jiggles, and the light catches on the sequins.It’s the exact dress I showed Eddy, the one I saw that demon wearing all those years ago, and it’s just as beautiful as I remember.
Evidently, the Arcanaeum remembered that wistful dream, and now it’s replicated the outfit perfectly.
“Well, there’s no harm in trying it on,” I concede, slipping it from the hanger. I take a steadying breath, then broach the subject I’ve been dreading. “You were trying to help me when you kept shoving the heirs at me last term, weren’t you?”
I thought my oldest friend was betraying me, but all along it was trying tosaveme. At the time, I was frustrated by how it was keeping me in the dark, but I’ve always known its ability to communicate was limited. It’s also always been on my side when it counted, and after five hundred years, I should’ve had more faith in our friendship.
The clock hands on all four sides of the tower go limp, and the bell above chimes once mournfully.
“I should’ve trusted you.”
Another lonely peal.
“I won’t make the same mistake again.” I swallow back the lump of emotion clogging my throat. “And…I suppose you could decorate for Easter in a few months.”
Every single book in the library straightens in interest.
“Tastefully!”
I’m certain the Arcanaeum would’ve done so without my blessing, but the eager rattling of my desk drawers below assures me that it appreciates the gesture.
“And…thank you, old friend.” Surely this thickness in my throat isn’t normal? I don’t recall it being so hard to speak before. “This is a gift. I won’t waste it.”
The Arcanaeum is silent, though I can’t be sure whether to interpret it as embarrassed or ominous. Perhaps it’s simply still tired. Either way, I return my attention to my outfit.
Zippers are undoubtedly one of the better inventions of modern times, though the tiny hook and eye at the side of the dress is a struggle. Once it’s done, I take a second to look at myself in the mirror.
Honestly, I barely recognise myself, but Ifeelpretty. This was just supposed to be a quick try-on, but now I find myself wishing I could wear it downstairs to dinner.
“It’s too dressy,” I remind myself sternly, even as I run my hands reverently over the lines of midnight sequins.
The Arcanaeum summons a white knitted jumper and a pair of cotton canvas shoes straight onto my body. It dresses down the outfit enough that it appears festive but not overdone, and I smile, giving a small twirl.
My arms get tired after brushing my hair, so I elect to leave it down, hanging in barely there waves down to my thighs. It’s a nice change from the messy braid it’s hung in for so long, and it softens the hard lines of my face a little.
Eddy’s hair is short. Should I cut mine? Will it stand out?
There’s so much joy in dressing up for the first time in so long. It flutters in my chest, and the pages of the books around me ruffle.
“I need scraps,” I mutter, then smile when a bunch of small paper strips appear in a stack beside me.
Cosmetic runeforms are simple enough, and when I head for the wooden stairs a few minutes later, my lashes are darker, my lips are glossy, and my eyes are painted with smoky eyeshadow. It’s armour of a sort. I’ll need it to face the five men below.
After that, I have my own plans.
Eavesdropped conversations have assured me over and over that, should I find my way to a ‘nightclub,’ as a woman, I won’t struggle to ‘pull.’ A prickle of guilt lodges in the back of my throat at the idea, but I shush it sternly. It’s easier to focuson the novelty of having sensations, rather than the discomfort that arises at the idea of taking a stranger to my bed.
