𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 | 𝐉𝐞𝐚𝐧 𝐊𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐢𝐧

𝐗𝐗𝐗𝐈 : 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐄𝐧𝐝𝐬 *

You nodded with a stiff smile and stepped over to steal the fabrics. Counting piece by piece, there was a dress, three nightgowns, and two pairs of drawers. Although your fingers trembled as you picked up each article and searched for its frays, it would be easy to finish before lunch.

"Very well," you said with a failing voice. "I'll have it done before the end of the day, and I can send someone to drop them back tomorrow—"

Mina cut you off, "Actually, I was hoping I could... Well... If it isn't too much of a burden, I wanted to watch you mend them. I completely understand if you are too busy for a sewing lesson, but I remembered you offered to teach me, and since I'm already here, I just thought..." The girl paused to breathe and shook her head. "I'm sorry. I ramble when nervous, and I can tell you weren't expecting me with how startled you look... And I didn't even bring money to pay you for lessons!" Mina smacked her hand to her forehead. "Stupid, Mina. So stupid. You can't just expect things like this. I'll...leave you to it!"

She stood up to leave, but you stopped her before she could get far.

"You can stay, Mina."

"... Really? But I didn't–"

"Of course. I'm only startled because I expected someone else. That's all."

"But I didn't bring any–"

"Consider it a gift for keeping your silence regarding our first meeting," you whispered. "You can follow me up the stairs. My sewing room is up there."

The girl tailed you carefully as if, should you be reminded of her presence, you might toss her back out the door. You opened the sewing room door for her, inviting her in with an extended arm and a gentle smile. Mina mirrored your expression as her eyes flew around the room. Brown burned bright when they landed on the expensive, gifted fabric fastened to your dress form, and she rushed over to the garment hanging on the bodice.

"Did you make this?" she asked, pointing at cascading red waves.

"I did," you answered.

"By yourself?!" And you hummed to confirm Mina's question. "Oh, that is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen! Have you worn it out yet?"

"I'm afraid it's not finished."

"Not finished? You're playing! It looks finished to me! If I could make something half as beautiful as this, I'd have a husband in a week! Maybe even a day! Oh, I would love to see it on you! I'm sure you are an absolute beauty in red! Not that you aren't beautiful now! What I meant to say is..."

Mina continued overexplaining herself while you stared blankly at the scarlet fabric. Eyes dove through sheeny ripples and shadowy lace, and the longer you stared, the thicker and hotter your saliva turned until lava flowed over your tongue.

The dress.

The dress designed from a place of tenderness–stitched together with Father's hand and Connie's gift. The dress that forced you to see how broken you had become and warned of how low you would fall. The dress that ignited your rage in fiery splendor until only black soot remained. The dress that waited unfinished in the corner–surviving only as a manifestation of your pain; your anger; your death.

That dress.

"Once it's finished, I'll show you," you breathed. "But for now, I'll teach you the basics so you can make something much more beautiful soon enough."

Nervous nodding followed your acquiescence, and before long, you sat the rambling girl down and pushed a needle, thread, and sewing hoop into her hands.