Haldor Stand’s only seamstress, a woman with straight, deep brown hair and light gray eyes, holds up a simple white dress with frills all over it and plenty of ribbons— worse than that, enough lace to make me look like some kind of a wannabe princess on a budget if I put this on.

“I refuse!” yelling, I back away towards the door outside to the main street from the seamstress’ parlor. Backpedaling, I crash into Bret, finding him standing behind me. I look over my shoulder at him with an expression of pure horror. His lips spread wider in a gleeful grin.

Clapping a hand onto my shoulder he asks, “Why are you so opposed to wearing such a lovely dress? I’ll wager you never saw one so grand for the price she’s askin’. No matter, you must dress for the job you’re applying for. You’re a lovely girl and you should sell your best attributes first off.”

Shivers crawl up my back. “No! I’d rather break myself hauling things until I build up some muscles. I’ll march right back to those barrel haulers at the north gate and…”

“Are you serious?” The seamstress asks me, interrupting my tirade with a surprised expression, glancing back and forth between me and the dress that she holds, she adds, “If all you want to do is hauling heavy things all day, you’ll have to look like something other than a refugee. I suppose some of my cast off projects in the back will do the trick.” Rubbing her chin, she frowns thoughtfully.

“The dress will be fine,” Bret insists, glaring at me.

Huffing and pouting, I turn and look at Bret in the eye, putting my finger into his face. “Shut up, Bret! It won’t! I REFUSE, I said!”

“Why?” Bret asks, perplexed. “All young gals wear pretty dresses to catch a man’s eye and get settled in around your age. Phaw! I bet most girls your age wish they could wear something lady-like. I’m doin’ you a favor, Hana! What’s your problem here?”

“Just no!” I growl like a cornered cat. “I’m not…”

Bret interjects, “Hana, be reasonable! … Since we’re talking about my money here, I think I have a right to tell you what to wear…”

“No!” Gritting my teeth, I slip around Bret. “I’m sure that those haulers won’t care about me looking like some kind of a princess. In fact, it would just complicate things! Let’s go, Ela.” I rush over to Ela where she’s standing against the wall by the door leading out and clasping Ela’s hand, I pull on her arm and her cowlick twitches. She looks away as though there’s something she doesn’t want to say to me.

“Ela?” I ask with a pleading look.

“Wait, girl.” The seamstress goes to her shop’s counter and sets the dress down there, looking at Bret with a glare. “Don’t presume to tell a lady how to dress, young man. This is her choice, not yours. If my frank words result in you not buying anything from me today, that would be just fine with me. I’ll say this again: when it comes to what women wear, men don’t have a say. Leave this to me. I’ll offer you something that won’t cost much more than this dress and makes her happy.” Crossing the ground between herself and Bret, she points imperiously at the door.

Bret winces and facepalms. “I think I know better than—”

“Out!” The seamstress barks, pointing again.

“Ugh… if you give her tomboy clothes like she wants, I won’t pay for them!” Bret groans.

“I won’t. A lady should dress like one.” The seamstress looks at me benevolently. “I’ll select the best, but still cheap garments to augment the beauty and youth she hides with those hideous garments she has on. Rest easy and—shoo.” She flips her hand several times again.

Shaking his head, Bret looks at me with a pissed off expression as he pushes his way out the shop’s door.

With a contented sigh and a smile, the seamstress looks at me to wink. “He likes you a mite too much to give up on the idea of putting you into something more becoming. Even though I dislike that he’s trying to give you a complete makeover so that you’ll be fairer in his eyes, we won’t entirely disappoint him. There’s no way I’ll allow you to leave my parlor in those baggy castoffs.”

Taking my arm, the seamstress pulls me to the door leading to the back of her shop, into a room where clay mannequins wearing various outfits stand, many of these outfits looking incomplete. There’s a large wooden trestle in here with bins full of assorted things from thread to layers of cloth, glues, decorative gems and such. Standing by the table, she pulls a piece of paper from a pile of them and lifting a quill, she dips the point into an inkpot after lifting off its lid and starts sketching. Her eyes narrow as she draws.

“Um… again… I don’t want a dress. Pants and a shirt are enough for me and if they’re better fitting,” I say, walking around the table, curiously examining each bin’s contents.

The seamstress frowns, waving her free hand. “Hush for a while. Creativity requires total silence. You don’t want to be thrown out with your young suitor, do you?”

Blinking in startlement, I tightly zip closed my lips. I don’t want to stand outside and get into a pitched fight with Bret over what I should wear. I get the feeling that would happen if I was kicked out.

“No, that won’t be necessary,” the seamstress mutters to herself with a nod to herself. “It won’t take long before I have the basics in place. Nothing too feminine… but still trendy.”

“Yes.” I grin, happy that she understands how I feel.

The seamstress resumes as though I hadn’t spoken, “...A cute girl with your looks requires something almost court-worthy. Oh, no. There I go again…” She laughs. “We won’t overdo it. Psh… No one around here cares much about trendsetting like me, nor following them much and it seems that you aren’t all that much different from the rest already settled here,” she mutters and blows a lock of her dark brown hair out from in front of her eyes with pursed lips. Ela walks tentatively through the door from the shop’s parlor and sneaks over to my side.

“Hana… We could just live outside the town. We could get by out there, you know.” Ela chews her lip. “You wouldn’t have to wear any dresses for anyone out there.” She clasps her hands in front of her. “All this bothers you, doesn’t it?”

With a soft smile, I shake my head. “I won’t become an adventurer thinking like that, Ela. Running away from responsibility. If there’s one thing that I’ve learned from fan—” I pause, deciding that mentioning fantasy books would just raise some eyebrows here. “It’s a fact of life. The strong have the freedom to travel, make money and life, in general, becomes much more meaningful.”

Abruptly, the seamstress picks up the sketch she was working on and tears it into pieces with loud ripping noises and when she crumples it into a ball with both hands, her hair practically standing up and throws her hard work contemptuously into a nearby bin.

Ela gasps and hides behind me and even I take a step back. Did we piss her off too? Oh shit…

“...W-why?” I ask as we both look at the seamstress uncertainly, trembling next to the table with some unidentifiable emotion. The woman’s face becomes introspective immediately after hearing my question. She crosses her arms, tapping her fingers on her elbows.

“Hmmm?” She looks blankly at us and then laughs. “I have ears, you know, you two.” Her face clears, but she raises an eyebrow, looking at me specifically. “This explains a great deal of why you behave the way you do. So you have great dreams of becoming an adventurer. It’s not easy to get one of those Adventurer’s licenses, you know? By the look of you, I think you’ll probably remain a waitress for life. A graceful slip of a girl like you wants to swing a sword around,” she lifts her quill and mock sword fights with it. “Killing goblins, hunting the demons off in the north? Do you want to go fight the Lapvians in a war?” She puts her hand on her forehead, mock fainting, and at the same time putting a blot of ink on the center of her forehead.

Wincing, I chuckle.

“Well—um—yes. But, it’s not just a foolish dream that I’m talking about. I’m not a fool, dreaming about things that I can’t achieve.”

“How can you be so sure? You might well fail in your attempt. People face failure every day.” the seamstress asks, skeptical.

“Well… If I can’t become an adventurer in the end, all I’ll deserve is to be a waitress or whatever else here in this town like you said and as Bret thinks, but just because it’s hard to achieve doesn’t mean that I won’t do it.”

…..

The seamstress moves her head from side to side, thinking as she moistens her lips with her tongue. Finally tilting her head, the seamstress gazes into my eyes. She looks directly at me, but her expression is somewhat blank. Her eyes are far away as she takes in my features and whatever else. 

Meanwhile, Ela walks around restlessly and starts looking at the things in the bins on the table and out of the blue she giggles in delight as she lifts colorful ribbons from one. Looking in her direction, I smile warmly. She’s recovered! Ela seems happier when something she likes distracts her from her thoughts. 

Dropping the ribbons, Ela moves on to another bin and reaches into that one. I shake my head. “Ela—The seamstress might get mad if you keep touching all of her things.”

“...but…” Ela whinnies. “These look like the flower that was on your sword.” Opening her hand, she shows little pink rose buttons. 

My jaw drops and I walk over to her, peeking closer at what she holds, nodding. “They do look very similar. The pattern of the petal folds are the same.” The image of the rose on the guard of my stolen sword comes to mind, a vivid picture. It always peeked at Halima, no matter wherever she went in her house, it would always catch her eye. The flower’s pattern is indelibly imprinted in my mind’s eye. Plus, the scrap of embroidery has the same rose on it.

“Oh… those…” The seamstress chuckles as she returns to her body, so to speak, and walks over to look at the rose buttons that Ela holds with a wry expression. “The royal crest of the old Morga kingdom. These aren’t much in favor these days.” Shaking her head, she sighs. “Anyone wearing these might be confused for a demon these days.”

Thinking about my dream, I recall a huge ogre with heavy armor that also had these roses on it. I hadn’t thought much of it at the time, but what does it mean that I’m seeing these roses so often?

“I’ve thought about throwing these away, destroying them,” the seamstress says. “I took a small cask of them from my old parlor with me when I fled to Haldor’s Stand, believing that things would work out. Who knew that the rose emblem would become a symbol of evil? Not I.”

“Seamstress… You’re from Morga?” Ela asks softly.

The seamstress looks at Ela with a small smile, nodding. “...Up the way of Brighton, actually. Not too far from the capital, but just outside the range of the magical explosion that went off when the damned Baron arrived and changed the country. If I moved to the capital to be a famous designer like I always dreamed of doing, I’d be a demon today.”

“I—I’m from Morga too,” Ela says with tears filling her eyes.

“I thought as much,” The seamstress says with a sigh. “Lovely child. I recognize that lovely dress that you’re wearing, but I didn’t want to say much. You’re a beastkin, if my guess isn’t off.” She puts a finger over her lips with a smile and wink.

Ela gasps, returning the seamstress’ smile, wiping tears from her eyes and now damp cheeks. “Yes, you’re right. I-I just can’t relax pent up in here… I miss Mulga.”

The seamstress nods, sighing. “I do too, girl. I do. The capital was the loveliest city in the whole world. The castle was truly grand. The mainstreet up the center of the city was filled with restaurants, parlors and theaters. Nothing they’ve built down in Alversbridge can compare. I heard that the old palace in Alverston was once a match for ours. There was a lovely statue of the Goddess there too. Its beauty was unrivaled. Those were the golden days of Mulga and Alver, when our nations were sisters.”

“But then the people turned away from the goddess Alvera and that led to our curse,” Ela says sadly.

“Yes. They did.” The seamstress nods. “But make no mistake. It’s the goddess’ fault for turning her back on us the way she did. We didn’t reject her like Alver did and see what that got us? Total despair.”

—

“...That’s harsh to say, seamstress” I say, frowning. “Why do you blame the goddess for all these misfortunes?”

With a wry look on her face, the seamstress says, “It’s because she allowed the goblins to organize and destroy the old capital of Alver first, making all of Alver burn her churches and scriptures. She’s directly to blame for causing its current decline. Things started changing right away after Alversbridge was constructed in a more secure place at the mouth of the river. Propaganda against Mulga was spread throughout the whole nation while the economy started suffering.”

“... Couldn’t people just stand up again, rebuild and return to their old happier ways?” I softly ask..

“No. It’s not that simple. Alver’s royalty and nobles changed.” The seamstress shakes her head and waves a hand dismissively. “Seeing that Alver wouldn’t change, the faithful splintered off and migrated to Mulga, despite their refusal to come to Alver’s defense. Since our ancestors hadn’t the power to make any changes and they didn’t want to be persecuted for their worship of the goddess, they fled.”

“...We all together made that land into a proud kingdom. Mulga prospered when more people immigrated there. Daddy always told me that.” Ela smiles, wistfully dropping the rose buttons back into the bin with a clattering like falling rain. “A land of beauty, freedom, and equality. Where beastkin can live without worry of humans slaughtering or enslaving us. Where worship of the goddess wasn’t looked down on.”

The seamstress sighs and shakes her head. “Why are you here, child? This isn’t exactly the best place for your kind. You know that. But at least Haldor’s Stand has other Mulgan refugees living here aside from myself that feel like we do… Although most of them just want to put the destruction of Mulga behind them. And we don’t gather to talk about the old times anymore. Not for a few years. I’m one of the last to have any Mulgan pride, but I was about to give up like everyone else.”

“Don’t give up!” Ela exclaims and steps over to the seamstress, putting her face as close to hers as she did mine when we first met. She smiles brightly. “Don’t give up on our memories of a better time and place. If we ever forget Mulga, we’ll forget ourselves.”

Blinking, the seamstress sheds a tear and laughs as she reaches up to pat Ela’s quivering cowlick. Ela blushes and her ears and tail pop out.

The seamstress beams. “I won’t forget Mulga, sweet child. Thanks to your sweet reminder. It’s wonderful to meet someone who still thinks fondly of our proud country.”

Ela smiles brightly, nodding. “Yes! We’ll rebuild Mulga someday, or at least force Alver to change and make it a better place for everyone to live together like Mulga!”

The seamstress nods and her smile falters. “I’d love to rebuild, but there’s a Demon Baron to slay right along with his armies. As for fixing Alver… Hah… I honestly detest the corruption of the current nobles and court down in Alversbridge. But, I don’t see any change happening. It wasn’t possible for our ancestors to change them then, and nothing much has changed today. We’ll hold on here as long as we can before things get worse— we’ll fight until we all die.”

Ela’s ears flatten and she looks down sadly. “You really think so? Are things that bad? Beastkin like me are all afraid of humans, but to think that things are as bad as we think… I—I… The world will end?” Her lip quivers.

With a shaking of her head, the seamstress exhales and her lips twist. “That’s why I’m living in a mountain town, doing business here in the holy reaches. The people here are uncomplicated and less corrupt than further south. It’s obvious that we’ll all die someday and some of us will end up joining the Baron’s horde. The places he rules even starts rotting sooner or later. I think the whole world will be despoiled and… sadly not a single human will be left.”

Ela turns away sorrowful, chewing her lip. “Even the beastkin will die too.”

The seamstress taking a deep breath, she puts on a smile and in a more cheerful tone says, “Ahem.. we’ve gone off on a sad tangent here. Let’s talk about happier things.” She looks at me. “Let’s discuss your clothes, Hana.” She looks at me. “I think I have something in mind after our discussion. I think that this lovely child—” She looks back at Ela questioningly.

Ela giggles softly, smiling with the seamstress as her ears stand straight up, her tail tossing a bit. “My name is Ela.”

“That’s a very simple name. But it sounds a little incomplete.” The seamstress winks at Ela.

“Eeeeee…” Ela’s ears droop again for some reason and she fiddles her fingers around each other.

“I think she mentioned a sword with a rose on its hilt that Hana here owned, correct?” the Seamstress asks.

“Yes… it belonged to um… my grandfather. It was stolen the other day. There was armor with these roses on it too that went with it.”

The seamstress smiles brightly and nods to herself. “Seems you have a clear connection with Mulga too. More clear than most, I’d say. Very well. It seems these buttons will have a use, after all. If you don’t mind wearing the symbol. I’d like to see you bring honor back to Mulga’s emblem if you become an adventurer like you want. ”

…That’s asking a bit much of anyone. It’s almost as though she’s asking me to bring salvation to this possible dreamworld from ruination, but…

“I’d be proud to wear the crest,” I say resolutely. “Even if it means that some may look down on me for wearing it.” Reaching into my pocket, I remove the scrap of embroidery left over from Jeraldyne’s dress with the rose on it. “Would you mind integrating this embroidery, too?”

Lifting the scrap of embroidered cloth into her hands, the seamstress blinks and stares blankly at the embroidery. She nods, smiling and gives me a nod. “This rose is simple, but lovely and well-made. There’s even some daisies in this lovely little medley. I’d have loved to meet the crafter that created this. Daisies are the symbol of the goddess, you see. That’s an old Mulgan philosophy. We stand behind the goddess, revering her for giving us life. The rose of Mulga stands with Alvera once again.”

Hours later, because the seamstress modified some already existing clothes, I find myself standing in front of a body mirror, examining the look of a tight-fitting blue dress-like thing that I’m wearing. Tight leggings cling affectionately to my backside. The stockings are somewhat  like leg-warmers. 

On the inside I’m elated for not having to face cold legs anymore!

Ela stands to the side, hiding her ears and tail again, watching with interest with an arched back.

The sleeves are baggy, reminiscent of the villager’s shirt I wore, thanks to it having been so large in its case. But on closer examination, these sleeves more strongly resemble a kimono’s tamato. A button is fitted on the cuffs of the sleeves. On the hem at my throat rests Jeraldyne’s embroidery with a touch of lace added (she would have to add that, wouldn’t she?) with a large rose set into the front.

As mentioned, the dress is clinging, showing off an hourglass waist that I never expected I had even though I had no clothes for a time. While what I’m wearing now would normally upset me for how clinging it is, this outfit isn’t really a dress so much as a shirt and pants, just as I requested.

The tight leggings creep up into every crevice, feeling a bit strange, but so nice and warm. To keep the skirt on my shirt in place, cut in the back for riding, straps kind of like a garter belt connect the top to the warm stockings, pulled up over the leggings for extra warmth. Set on the tops and bottoms of the straps, part of the skirt, there are more rose buttons set. 

On my feet, I wear new shoes that the seamstress threw in to complete the look. A series of rose buttons form a chain down to their toe-tips. The heels make walking very awkward. Standing on one foot, I wobble, my ankle muscles stretching in an unaccustomed way.

“You’ll get used to those shoes in time,” the seamstress says, noticing my discomfort. “More importantly, you look the part of a waitress with those, but the clothes I made suit other occupations. “Since you’re going to be a waitress first, take care about getting food or drinks on it. Wear an apron. At least, they'd better have them.” Her eyes narrow, promising violence if I messed up these clothes so soon, spilling food or drinks on myself.

“I prefer shoes with flat soles,” I complain.

The seamstress laughs. “I’m sure you would, but at least in this situation, I’ll have to insist. It suits the rest of what I’ve made for you. Don’t go and curse me by wearing those old shoes of yours, making me look bad.” She wags a finger at me. “These clothes keep in mind your goal to be an adventurer and should serve you there too. It’s not easy to design clothes that suit both.”

Frowning, I look at myself in the mirror, doubtful.

“What do you think, Ela?” I ask.

Still arching her back and looking now somewhat preoccupied, Ela offers me a smile and says, “I think you look wonderful. This is much better than those other clothes. You looked best with your armor on, even with those plain, baggy clothes under that, but—” She shrugs. “I don’t really know what a waitress is.” Ela frowns.

“Someone who takes orders in a restaurant and brings customers their food,” the seamstress supplies with a smile, reaching out to pet Ela’s head. The horse-girl beams happily.

“Ela… that’s not what I asked you. Do you think this outfit would work out?” I ask, pursing my lips.

Ela blinks and frowns, sizing up what I’m wearing. She laughs softly and points at my shoes. “I know that you don’t like having high heels and I thought about something. It’s all good except for those shoes, I think you’d have some problems with running fast wearing them. They might trip you up.”

“Oh!” Why didn’t I think about that? Why didn’t the seamstress consider how I’d be able to move in a fight?

“Well…” The seamstress laughs wryly. “I don’t really want you wearing them while you’re bloodletting. But then, I don’t quite believe that you’ll get that far, no offense.”

Ela nods to herself. “Furthermore, I think it’ll probably make it even hard to learn how to fight with a sword. The heels would probably get stuck in the grass in Bret’s yard.”

I nod, amused. Vayne doesn’t wear high heels. If he did, I wonder what that would say about him.

“I can at least lower the heels a bit for you to give you more sure footing.” The seamstress muses, not sounding happy but accepting. She rubs at her nose. “I didn’t think enough. My apologies.”

“If you can handle reducing these heels,” I say happily, “I really do think it will help. I’ll spar some tonight with Bret after work, whether I land a job or not.”

The seamstress shrugs and smiles. “Give me those shoes and I’ll work on them.”