The Vanity Collection

The Eyes of The Seraphs

I looked to the left, then to the right. Seeing no one, I opened the door and quietly slipped out.
The train of my long, velvet cloak slapped my legs as I ran stealthily into the night, carefully lest I made a sound.

Morgansville was a town forced into submission by the Seraphs, made to subdue to their malignant rules and unfair demands. Our once quiet town was now crawling with soldiers who didn't about us whatsoever. The only people they seemed to respect were the Nobles, the Seraph oligarches who made all the laws these days. It was the Sumptuary Laws I was trying to run away from. The laws that forbade the lower class's wearing clothes better than rags.

I ran behind the houses, minimising my chances of being caught. Those rats only ever patrolled the main streets.

In town, I kept my head down as I neared my destination. The ugly face of my once lively boutique never ceased to haunt me. Marequen suggested I burn it down last week but I'd laughed it off. I'd said that I couldn't bring myself to look at it, much less set it on fire. I hadn't admitted it then, but now as I stole past it in the pitch blackness, I was able to accept that the reason I couldn't burn it down was because even in its decrepitude, the boutique represented freedom. To me, Fashion was freedom.

❤

The air outside Helenne's house on the other side of town was warm and humid, the atmosphere pregnant with trouble. Misleadingly, Helenne's house looked completely dark from the outside, betraying no sounds nor signs of what I knew to lie within. The stiff oxygen bit at my nose as I stood outside her door, lightly panting. An annoying little voice at the back of my head was telling me that something didn't feel right. The air was too still, the town too quiet. Something evil could be afoot, my mind told me.

My Fashion mind refused to listen. So intent was she on showing off her talents in front of a appreciative audience that she ignored all reason and my hand formed a fist and knocked on the door, softly and only once.

The old wooden door opened quickly and I closed my eyes, half expecting to to face a Seraph upon opening them.

I was pulled roughly inside. "Why you stiff so, girl?" Asked Ruby in her mannish, abrupt way.

My eyes flew open, slightly embarrassed with themselves for being so silly and fell upon the open, cozy space of Helene's house. There were around a dozen magnificently clad women lounging around, socialising and enjoying the chance to show off.

"Let's see the dress!" Marequen shouted, a smirk gracing her face. Her green eyes glowed in the yellow candlelight.

All eyes turned to me. "Let's see it!" A few women demanded. The air felt dangerous and testing but I ignored it, high off the drug of Fashion.

I smiled obligingly and slowly removed my coat to showcase the splendid gown that was hidden underneath. It was my best yet. The ladies 'oo'd' and 'ah'd' and I soaked it in their admiration. It would have to hold me over until next week.

Suddenly, there was a great pounding on the door. The atmosphere was in labor. "Open up!" The Seraph yelled.

We all scrambled for our coats, desperate to conceal our disobedience, but it was too late. The atmosphere had given birth. Trouble had been born.

My eyes clamped shut.

*
This is a story I wrote years ago as an English B assignment. My teacher was so thoroughly impressed by it; I believe I got 28/30. A point was lost because the story was way over the word count and an additional one was lost because of some other reason. This short story and the praise I received were so encouraging to me as a young writer. I understood that short stories gave the satisfaction of finishing something. Short stories helped me to learn how to craft a narrative, efficiently create people and use words. This was one of my very first ones, most likely written in third form.