This time, Trissy manages to remember she came to see me for some help revising, so we get around to that. Last time, I sort of caught her up to where she should be in maths, meaning that she has mostly kept up since then—through working hard, no doubt. This revision, then, is me helping her understand some of the new things we’ve “been taught” that she doesn’t understand well. We have maybe half an hour before a maid brings tea, but I have Trissy stay for a drink and we study a bit longer afterwards.

And as we say our goodbyes, I look at her, and I remember why I suggested that hairstyle to her: something that is there but not noticed.

It sparks an idea in my head that has to wait until I finish going over Iris’s dress. When I’m happy there’s nothing more to do, I carefully fold it up and place it into a handbag for tomorrow. Now I scour my textiles, looking for just the right fabric and thread. Once found, I sew a simple violet as a test, and then run my hand over it, hold it up to catch the light.

Black thread on black satin. An ethereal design, the stitching barely noticeable until you look closely, easily felt. This is… perfect for Violet.

Struck by that inspiration, I pour over my designs and start iterating on the best one for this. Rather than negative space, this is putting snowdrops and violets closely next to each other, and then I’ll sew in the gaps, leaving the flowers to come out in the fabric. Simple and elegant.

I stay up a little bit late in my fae mood, sleep coming quickly when my fatigue eventually overcomes my enthusiasm.

The next morning, I’m groggy waking up, but out of bed as soon as I remember my passion. After racing through the things I need to do (don’t worry, my teeth are properly brushed), I look over what I did. Last night was all about the inspiration, yet there’s more to it than just that. So I start thinking it through.

By breakfast, I have my plan sorted out. However, there’s no getting out of studying, but at least we have a relaxing walk first. The rest of the morning passes in a slow grind of reading notes. Honestly, it’s probably too much studying, far more than Ellie ever did and she got good results (Birmingham was a top ten university for her subject). But Violet sees this as practice for her future, so it’s fine. Besides, she doesn’t stop us from talking amongst ourselves or anything—unless we get too noisy.

Then it’s time for the early lunch, followed by a long walk, and afterwards I stop by my room to pick up my handbag before heading to the classroom. Like yesterday, it’s only a short wait until my models arrive. I organise food for my town friends (something of a lasagne for Gwen today), do everyone’s makeup, finishing up with a few minutes to spare.

The bell rings, door opens, another afternoon begins. After the initial calm, it becomes a bit busier than yesterday (which was itself busier than Friday), but that’s more outside in the corridor than in the room. People walking past, the sound of chatter leaking in.

Of those who do come in, there’s the same minimal interest in my dresses, token interest in the paintings. Most are simply here to have a brief talk with Ms Berks.

Time slowly passes and Gwen is (understandably) even more fidgety given its her third day of this. I can’t do much about that for now, try to keep her entertained with stories I make up off the top of my head, borrowing from Ellie’s wide pool of knowledge.

After a couple of hours of that, the people I’m waiting for arrive: my parents. Clarice and Joshua are staying at home, so it’s just my mother and father. I don’t mind, though, happy to see them.

“I’ll just be a minute,” I whisper to Gwen, giving her shoulder a pat.

My parents have already spotted me by the time I stand up, meeting me beside the models as we walk towards each other.

“Mother, father, it is good to see you,” I say, and I lightly curtsey.

“You look well,” she says.

I raise my head, see her smiling, and I smile back. “Yes, I have been working hard and having a lot of fun. I couldn’t ask for more.”

We loosely go through formalities (kind of informalities, in public but not at a formal event), and then the topic drifts towards the dresses. My father gives no opinion, standing there rather stoic. (Strictly speaking, the princes shouldn’t have commented on “women’s clothing” either, but I’m a known bad influence.)

And my mother gives me a small platitude: “They look very artistic, and the sewing is neat.” While she probably recognised Lottie after seeing me with Gwen, she doesn’t say anything, simply comments on the dresses.

Then we talk a bit about my return next weekend, and they pass on Clarice’s and Joshua’s wishes of luck for my upcoming exams. Before they go, though, I have something to ask. “Could you send me a slip of silk as soon as possible?” I say, and I go on to tell my mother the size and colour. (I have enough black thread, no need for that.)

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

She listens and then frowns. “Are you sure?” she asks.

Well, I guess it’s not the right size for a handkerchief nor a dress—silk scarves aren’t part of the fashion here yet. “It is an unusual size, but yes, I am sure,” I say, smiling.

She lets out a small sigh before nodding. “We shall send it by courier upon our return,” she says.

“Thank you,” I say, and then I curtsey again. “And thank you both for coming today.”

My mother softly laughs her elegant laugh and, when I look up, my father is smiling.

“Really, you are so serious,” she says, half-chiding.

We say a little more, then they take their leave. I watch them go with mixed feelings, a bit of everything from sadness to relief, before returning to Gwen. After giving my parents a couple of minutes to get back to their carriage, I ask Gwen, “Shall we go for a walk?”

She eagerly nods. “Can we? Really?” she says.

I smile and nod, stand up, taking her hand. We go to Lottie first and I say, “We shall be back in ten minutes or so.” She doesn’t speak, but replies in the slightest nod.

As we have a bit more time reserved than our usual bathroom break, I lead Gwen to the flower garden, her face lighting up when she sees it. From earth magic class, I know every flower here and indulge her curiosity. It would be easy to lose track of time and spend an hour there, but I don’t want Lottie to worry, so we soon head back.

Once at the room, we settle down in our seats; as I hoped, the walk has done a lot to work off Gwen’s boredom. And now, rather than French, we quietly talk about flowers—flower language something particularly interesting to her.

Both too soon and belated, the bell rings out for the end of the open day. There’s only one family here, so the room quickly empties and then Ms Berks closes the door, truly ending the exhibition.

I take the opportunity to stand in front of the models and bow. “Thank you all for your time these last few days,” I say.

When I rise from my bow, I see them smiling. Iris speaks first. “It has been a privilege to wear something so beautiful,” she says, gesturing at her dress.

“You are welcome,” is Lottie’s simple reply.

The other two just bow their heads in a maidly fashion, but Lizzy is clearly smiling, Len showing a neutral expression which doesn’t quite hide her good mood.

We leave it at that and they go in the backroom to change. It doesn’t take them long to come through again, at which point I say, “I shall borrow Miss Thatcher for a moment; it may take a while, so there is no need to wait.”

The latter part is more directed at Len and Lizzy, and they seem to understand, taking it as a dismissal. Ms Berks, on the other hand, looks at me and asks, “How long?”

I giggle. “My apologies, miss. However, I think you will find it worth the wait,” I say in a knowing tone. She doesn’t look pleased, but she rarely does.

While I had that exchange, Iris and Lottie exchanged words, and it looks like Lottie and Gwen will wait for her. Iris turns to me with a curious expression. “What is it, miss?” she asks.

I gesture for her to follow me and we go once more to the backroom. Tucked next to my handbag with makeup is the bag with her dress, and I carefully take it out. With my back to her, she can’t see anything as I unfold it and lightly brush out the creases.

When I’m satisfied, I turn around, holding it up for her to see. The effect is immediate, her eyes widening and mouth falling open (quickly covered by her hand) and, after a second, a drawn out, “Oh,” slips out.

“What do you think?” I ask.

She seems to melt, her expression becoming almost sombre. “It is utterly incredible. I haven’t seen something so beautiful,” she whispers.

I step forward, offering it to her. “It’s yours.”

And she breaks. It’s quite funny, she stills, seemingly not even breathing, and it lasts for nearly five seconds before she moves, and that movement is to point at herself. “Mine?” she asks in a childish tone.

I gently nod. “Would you wear it for me now?” I ask.

She nods.

I close the curtains and then awkwardly look away as she changes. I don’t think she’d mind me watching (we changed together at the café), but I don’t want to. A minute or so later, she says, “You can look.”

Instead, I draw the curtains—this dress looks best in the light. Slowly, so very slowly, I turn around. When I see her, I get a dollop of my own medicine: she’s incredible. The fit of the dress is better than I thought it would be, giving her an attractive silhouette (without being indecent), and then the dress shimmers as she just stands there, the irises alive, snowdrops glittering.

Before I know it, my eyes prickle and a few tears spill. It was worth it. “You look beautiful,” I say.

She gives me an awkward smile before bowing her head. “I, I don’t know if I can accept this,” she says softly.

“The fabric isn’t expensive if that’s your worry. Otherwise, this is something I wanted to do to make you happy, so you being happy is what matters to me. What do you think?” I ask.

Her expression still isn’t great, but it is better, and she’s at least willing to look at me. “It’s just… overwhelming.”

“If it would help, I can keep it for the time being, but I do want you to have it eventually,” I say.

Though she nods, she doesn’t reply. I give her space to think about this. It’s important that I don’t force my feelings onto her, that she’s comfortable. After a short while, she seems to come to a decision.

“Could you wait until September to give it to me? I may be no good, but I will… try to make something for you too,” she says.

Rather than tell her she doesn’t have to or anything like that, I take her at her word—trust her to know herself better than I know her. “Of course.”

She smiles. It’s not overly bright nor strained, but it is a smile. Then she says, “Could you draw the curtains?”

“I’d rather paint them,” I reply, and we both giggle at the joke. “On a serious note, would you mind showing Ms Berks the dress? If you’re not comfortable with the others seeing, I could ask her to come through here.”

Iris shakes her head. “No, I will go through.”

So I walk over and pull across the sliding door. Ms Berks, Lottie, and Gwen all look this way, curiosity sprinkled between them, but it’s just me. I step through with a smile, and then step to the side, revealing Iris.

I watch Ms Berks closely, and I get to see her make a face I haven’t seen before. In fact, it’s so precious, I’m afraid I can’t even describe it for you. But know that it reaffirms that all the effort I spent on the dress was worth it. Entirely worth it.

And when I turn to look at Iris, I see that she is covered in a loose veil of emerald light; I guess the faeries like the dress too.