She looks up to me as the bell rings with my entrance, eyes spinning a glowing green hue of patronization that’s reflected by the holy rings which pierce her skin. “Welcome. Prefabricated outfits are adjusted for free.” Her voice is monotone, but in a gentle way. Like a still canal, and not Mistress Vincenza’s pile driven stability.
“Hi.” I pace up to her counter and push forward the envelope.
Something cold draws down my face. Eyes I cannot see peer and steal warmth wherever their sight lands. The sound of distant laughter echoes from the back door.
I bring my frigid arms together. “Mistress Vincenza said I could get my new outfit here?”
Her body and voice twitch to life, eyes studying me. “You don’t look like someone she would take in.”
“What does that mean?”
“You’re just a bit sad looking. And pale.” She fumbles for a knife and tears open the envelope, laughing at the contents.
“She’s paler than me, isn’t she?”
“Well, you’re poor too.”
I clench my teeth.
“So she did. What a woman. Alright. Let’s get you measured. Stand over there.”
“By the… Here?” I step into a semicircle of mirrors and hanging suits.
A marching order of footsteps, an entire band of people, circle around me. I blink, but when my eyes open, the world is only so slightly darker than it was. It’s still just her.
“Great. Just there.” She steps behind me and lifts up my arms, taking a measuring tape around my body. “Favorite color?”
“I kind of like grey.”
“Beautiful choice, nearly correct. But you’re going to be wearing black if you want to be a necromancer.”
“Oh… okay.”
“And until you figure out how to changetheserags”—she pinches the skin of my arm—“you’re going to need some nice black makeup too, just about the eyes. You’re on the whiter end than me, so the rest of your face will go into adding contrast.”
This is vastly uncomfortable, but it’s hard to ask her to stop.
“Do I get to choose what outfit I wear?” I ask.
“Sweety, no. Vincenza wouldn’t be a real mistress if she let you choose. And besides, you wanted a dress anyway, didn’t you?”
“I, uh—I guess. Aren’t there different types of dresses?”
“And you’re getting the correct one. Don’t worry.”
Leg measurements. Hip measurements. Waist measurements.Chestmeasurements. Everything I am in numbers and uncomfortable touching.
“Your nose is a bit small, and that’s quite the eruption of freckles. What ratio of Roversellan to Lawrinian are you?”
“I’m pretty sure I’m just Roversellan.”
“Really?” She steps back. “And you don’t wear glasses, right?”
“I do. I just… They’re inconvenient. And I can read close things mostly fine.”
“Vincenza won’t do with a blind apprentice. Not at all.”
My head hesitates backwards as she taps the space around my eyes.
