A pleasant, jingling ding of a bell rung out as the two of them- Matchsticks safely set outside near a trough of water- entered the clothing shop.

Saila wondered, briefly, if this was a paradise.

Wall to wall, it was covered in dresses and skirts and blouses, in every colour and pattern she could think of. A mixture of Trestarian and Felisian aesthetics, long flowing gowns with lace patterns, frilly sashes and scarves, sheer veils and poofy-sleeved tops alongside petticoats made of silk, polka-dot blouses and pinstripe coats.

Even if she had an hour, and the rush wouldn’t fade.

It had male clothes as well, and truth be told the store was not quite as big as her excitement made it seem, but those were minor details.

“What you thinking, little lady?” Noble asked.

She hopped out of her reverie- almost tripping as her legs tangled, and gave an awkward laugh.

“I- I mean, I don’t know where to start! I uh…”

Noble- and the shopkeeper he’d been talking to, a portly man with a thick beard and dainty hands- looked at her expectantly.

… oh I absolutely spaced huh.

The man behind the shop counter chuckled, filling the empty air. “Oh don’t stress, young one. The way your papa tells it, you’ve need of a nice, goodly dress, yes?”

“Only the one, we’re not made of money, and-”

“A- ah, yes, right. Dress! And-”

“And as I was asking- do you know her dress size, good sir? It’s not quite the same as regular clothes you know!”

His strength in his voice cut off any protests- and the question itself led them both to tilt their head in unison.

“I see. Suzette- petite Suzette, viens ici. We need you a moment.”

“Coming papa.”

Elegant and soft like cotton, and shockingly close- the voice seemed to come from the wall-lined mess of clothing itself, and a particularly pretty powder-blue button-up dress with a flat, white collar and matching cuffs popped out from between them.

The girl wearing it had hair like gentle satin, held back by a thin white hairband- though still wavy in places, wild strands that couldn’t be contained. Her eyes shimmered a demure green that matched a calm expression that looked painted upon her face. She held a book lightly under her arm, her other open to catch the tape measure her father tossed over with the deft grace of a sixteen-year-old girl- which is to say, well enough to more than impress Saila.

“Take the young lady’s measurements, would you. She needs a dress.”

The girl- Suzette- drifted her eyes over Saila, and she gave a refined bow.

“Of course. This way, miss.”

Then without missing a beat, she stepped back into her wall of clothing, slipping through as though they weren’t even there.

Roaring flames rumbled in her chest, spreading heat up her neck and face. Saila followed- wordless, afraid that steam would leak out instead of words.

###

Noble shook his head as he watched Saila fumbled her way into the back room, chuckling softly to himself. There was an adorable earnestness to her that he appreciated, and wearing her heart so clear on her sleeve was good to see. It’d do her well one day, of that, he was sure.

“Precious, aren’t they?” the shopkeeper asked with a hearty grin. “Now, with the girls away- let’s talk shop, eh?”

“Suppose so.” Noble nodded simply, and placed the bundle- a cloth package meant for travelling- he’d been holding under his arm on the counter. “Tried to fix it myself, but… had some problem.”

The shopkeeper cringed as he removed the contents of the package; the lovely shirt he’d bought in Samudr-tat, sliced and torn to pieces by flower puppets and his brother. Four months of cleaning and dozens of attempts to patch and mend it with what Kenji had on hand had left it in a sorry state- which was an improvement.

A few of the stains left by the vile mixture in his veins had remained, that gave the impression of long forgotten bloodstains.

“Oh non…” he said, aghast. “Oh there’s nothing to do for this but put it to pasture. This is a dead shirt- though you’ve done commendable work trying to save it.”

“Well shoot,” Noble returned in kind, though he had to admit it bothered him more than he expected. Poor shirt, thrown into the deep-end straight away…

The shopkeeper put the shirt back gently, laying the unfortunate garment to rest. “What happened to cause this, anyway?”

“Normal things,” was the immediate response.

… I’m spending too much time with the little lady’s novels.

Thankfully, he just laughed, an echoing, canyon-laugh expected of a burly man. “Well, c’est la vie, I suppose. How about this then… you buy yourself a new shirt, half the price.”

“O- oh, I could never-”

“Please, I insist,” he said with a cheerful grin. “You and your little one, you’re travelers, non?”

“That we are, but-”

“And she is dressed in the finest clothes, and you in military rags and an old cloak.”

“- actually, it’s pretty new, and-”

“So, I see how it is. A good man gets a good shirt, so he takes his daughter out.”

“She’s-” Noble froze, a moment. Then, sighed “alright. Show me what you’ve got.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate it- far from it in fact, what money Saila had gotten them in Samudr-tat was running thin, and looking like a soldier in fully occupied territory was sure to draw some eyes, it was just…

He really just didn’t like trying on clothes.

###

The backroom Saila was escorted too was a wild thing- cramped in how it felt, with towering shelves of sewing supplies on every wall, but vast such that she felt it less a storage room and more a second wing.

Suzette’s presence only amplified the feeling.

“Arms out, s’il vous plait.”

Saila’s arms shot up in the air like she was being robbed.

“… to the side,” Suzette corrected with a faint laugh.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Ah! Re- right!” she squeaked, and out they shot, so quick she was sure they’d fly off.

Suzette approached, tape measure unfurling with practiced ease, and promptly got to work, measuring the lengths of her arms.

A rush of fire skipped across her nerves.

Saila took a breath and tried to calm herself.

Come on, come on, sure she’s cute and close but, settle down. She’s doing something important- she’s working, and you know how you get when people interrupt your work, right?! So jus- just wait, till she’s done, then talk to her. Just, nice and gentle-like- you can be smooth, you know you can, just… act natural. Just get her talkin’ and it’ll be fine!

“Do try not to fidget,” Suzette said.

It wasn’t working.

“I- uh, sorry. First time doing something like this- the measurements, I mean.”

What else could you mean??

Another laugh, soft and subtle. “It’s no problem. What sort of dress where you thinking?”

“Uh, well, I-” Saila started, freezing as Suzette dipped behind her to measure from her shoulder to her heel. “S- somethin’ pink. I’ve got an-”

Do not show her a box of matches!!

“- er, had, an example, but I… lost it.”

“Hm, a shame. But I think that can be arranged. Arms-”

With a sudden swoop, the tap measure went around her chest- loose, but enough to shock Saila’s arms into the air again.

“- up? Oh, beat me to it. You’re more skilled at this than you think, Miss.”

Relief.

That helped, more than any self-forced attempts to smooth out the fire in her heart. As it faded, Saila felt the feelings in her head a little easier.

It was not just sudden infatuation- though it certainly was that- but a scrape against a lingering scar she’d done her best to conceal. Dehali had torn it open long ago, cruel-hearted ticks gnawing on the edges. Leaving that place, she thought, would put an end to it. It’d simply scabbed, and Samudr-tat had picked it off hard, skin lifting with it.

But four months in the Anarkali- and Noble’s easy acceptance of her through it all- had cleaned the wound and let it heal.

Then, the sudden realization; that dress measuring meant measuring herself, and the sort of things proximity could reveal… at the hands of a cute girl. Worse than persistent gnawing or sudden tearing, it was like a thorn in her most vulnerable spot.

But she called me… miss.

Flames of fear faded to a warm, gentle glow.

Saila felt a wave of ease seep into her, and with it a free mind, wandering and wistful. Standing still while someone took your measures was a tiresome process.

Of all the pretty little things she could look at, what caught her eye second was a small desk and chair in a corner of the room. Suzette had to have been working there before her father called, and the piled-on bolts of cloth and twirls of yarn and- wait, is that…

A book- the same one under her arm previously- hastily hidden away under some knitting needles.

Huh! I wonder if that’s…

Before she could get a closer look, Suzette said, “okay, measurements done,” then slipped past her, measuring tape winding up around her wrist. “I’ll fetch you something nice and cute that suits you well.”

“H- hey… thanks,” Saila said. She wanted to snoop, enticed by literature- someone like her probably reads high art or something…- but decided against it, and instead watched the seamstress flip through some of the smaller dresses at her disposal.

After a moment, Suzette said, “Here you are, Miss,” with that gentle, demure grin on her lips. “I believe this will be to your liking.”

In her hands, a delightful dawn’s-light pink dress with white frills along the collar, with poofy sleeves and a white hem that gave the impression of an undershirt

“That’s… gorgeous!”

“It’s a little, simple in design, but I’m glad you like it, Miss…” then Suzette popped up a bit, the cutest shade of pink gracing her cheeks. “It appears I haven’t caught your name. My apologies.”

“Hey, no problem,” Saila said, a little surprised by the confidence building in her voice. “Name’s Saila. Uh… Saila Walker.”

Suzette flashed that demure grin of hers a touch wider. “Wonderful, Miss Walker. Now… do try it on!”

She handed it over with a dainty flourish, and Saila took it just as gracefully.

As gracefully as they could, at any rate.

###

Noble and the shopkeeper- Monsieur Tailleur, he’d told him- talked as they rummaged through the men’s section of his store.

Mostly he talked. The man was polite, but spoke with the forceful interruptions common in dyed-in-the-wool Felisians, and Noble was not a very talkative to begin with so many things got pushed to the wayside. He let it slide, preferring simply to listen when someone got talking like this, a habit of youthful days. The talkative ones always said more than they planned.

There was a certain deviousness to it, but then he did insist Noble should try on over a dozen button-ups he could not even begin to tell the difference between, so Noble felt it even.

“You’ve done a good job, you know,” he said, as Noble finally made his way through the frozen waterfall of dress-pants and shirts to the hidden change-room behind it. “Your little one seems cheery, despite the travel. You’ve raised her well.”

“Suppose so,” Noble replied, though he was mostly playing it by ear, and would have said as such had the man not continued.

“How is the traveling life, now? I longed to do it in my youth, you know.”

“It’s good. Now could I-”

“It’s why I’m out here, actually- wanted to see if I could make it. Then the war started, and, well-”

“I understand, but-”

“Met my wife here, though! Lovely, she was. Ah, I miss those da-”

“Mister Tailleur,” Noble said with a surprising force. “I appreciate the conversation, but I need to try on these clothes.

“Ah, yes, my apologies. I do ramble on- you try them on, then we’ll decide which best suits you, my new friend.”

The mountain moved from the man, leaving Noble in the changing room, surprisingly winded. With a sigh he closed the door, doffed his cloak, and took off his shirt.

Looking upon himself always held a certain edge to it, like grabbing a knife by the sharp end and knowing you can’t let go.

Worse, now.

Kenji’s repairs were solid and strong. He could barely see the lines where the pieces hadn’t mended just quite right, could barely make out the faint bit of silver used to fill cracks where it just wouldn’t mend. It gave him a battered look, shiny black torso chipped and scarred.

Sturdy, but shaken.

Memory sparkled clear and crystal, like his reflection in the changing mirror.

“Ah, do be careful, Noble. You’re back together, but… four months is still too soon, we’ve been over this.”

“How much, then? How long?”

“… Four years, at the best. One year till you’re back in the shape you were in when you met the little lady.”

“… we don’t have four years.”

A simple conversation, but one that stuck deep.

Noble’s right hand twitched; a weakness in the machine, or a return of something human?

Either way, he carried that weight, and hid it beneath a long-sleeved polo shirt. It fit a little loose, which was to his preference, and damn the shopkeeper if he wasn’t right that it did look good on him.

An odd thought to have, but since meeting Saila life had been plenty odd.

He’d simply gotten used to it.

###

Saila swished about the backroom, hands gently gripped mid-silhouette to flair the hem out wider. The flowing cotton was gentle on her skin- where it touched of course, she’d been too excited to remove her normal clothes and had simply slipped the dress on in a rush- and the way it snuggly held her hips, the way the skirt danced with her movements, how it was just loose enough in the chest to shield from dysphoric thought, all built up to a feeling she could not contain.

It was perfect. Her laughter came sharp and joyful like a crackling campfire, each spin an elegant twirl that at times threatened to launch her sandals off.

Suzette, for her part, was clapping gently, cheering her on with a Felisian song Saila couldn’t begin to understand, but simply egged her on.

“Oh this is wonderful! This- aaaa this is amazing! You really know how to pick’em Suzy!”

“A- ah…” her clapping abruptly stopped, cheeks going pink again. “S- Suzy…?”

Finely honed skills that Saila was sure she had- not to mention the confidence of euphoria- told her this was the moment.

“Yeah! That’s uh- you don’t mind a nickname, right?”

“I do, appreciate it, Miss Walker,” Suzette said. “Just, not expected, is all.”

“That…” Saila gripped at her elbow, words not even half as confident as she felt. “That’s good! Sorry it was sudden, just- I figured… do you like books?”

Memories of tumbling down a sand dune forced themselves forward.

The gentle pink gracing Suzette’s face deepened till she was nearly redder than Saila’s hair. Her eyes darted to the desk, then back to her. She was surprised someone so demure and proper could get that embarrassed about books...

And yet, a sort of heat crawled up Saila’s back, tingling her neck. “I- I mean, you don’t have to answer. I’m sure you do- just, you know, smart person stuff. Not dime-novels like me.”

“Dime-novels…?” Suzette tilted her head.

“Yeah. Soldier stuff, goofy romances, rider stories and-”

Like a bullet, Suzette shot over to her desk and fetched up the book and thrust it forward with a shocking force. She was so hot with excitement she could feel it, could almost see the steam from her ears.

“I- I- I love rider stories!!”

Gripped firmly in her hands was a familiar image.

The cover was a beautiful piece of art- depicting the novel’s grim gun-slinging protagonist riding on her pearl-white mare, pistol fire roaring about her from those who’d have her head. The title, in thick lettering that evoked engravings on tombstones, read ‘La Mort Qui Court- a title she’d seen on inside-page of her own copy. She recognized it instantly.

“Oh shit you’ve read ‘The Running Death’ too?”

Suzette’s eyes seemed to sparkle like starlight.

“Incroyable! Simple incredible! I’ve never met another person who liked it!”

“What?! But they’re so good though!”

“I know! I’ve tried, but no one gets it! Oh Miss Walker-”

“You can call me Saila-”

“- Saila, we must talk more about this! If- I mean…” Suzette faltered, took a step backwards. “If, you’d like to, of course.”

“Are you kidding absolutely? I’d love to Suz- er… Suzette, but…”

“But…?”

Saila swished her dress with a bit of a twist. “We uh, probably need to pay for this first.”

“Ah! Right, um, please this way Sa- I, Miss Walker!”

Suzette dropped her book and hurried off, trying to calm herself down. Saila followed, a massive grin on her face. She was right, in so many more ways than one.

This really was paradise.

######