The city was meant to be built with a grand plan in mind. This plan, however, quickly became irrelevant as chaos reigned over the process of its construction. It began with a road—wide enough to accommodate the entire northern trade. Next came quarters for the servants who would attend the nobles overseeing the project, followed by lodgings for the laborers who would actually build the city itself. Even the keepers of noble pets had a designated space in this grand design. Hailed as revolutionary, this plan was meant to transform a humble settlement into a thriving city.
The vision was abandoned almost as soon as the first spades struck the earth. The group of hired masons and laborers tasked with carving out the road and laying the city’s foundations couldn’t read—The unfortunate dealings of a kingdom with only a 4% literacy rate, and a result of an absolute disconnect between the upper and lower classes. No one bothered to ensure the laborers could read, nor did anyone of southern nobility wanted to go to the cold north without their luxury homes already built, even then they should be renovated no less than twice before they were willing to risk working up there.
With nothing but drawings to guide them and no proper oversight, they went off the drawings only, guessing at the pretty squiggly lines. Fun fact, Marchenne was built 33 miles west of where it was meant to stand. In the laborers' defense, the tree they broke ground in front of did look like a monkey. It was just a shame that the tree drawn in the notes was to showcase what a Lolicock Tree looked like, in case they never saw one before.
Long story short, the city was ultimately built in a very ordinary way—without planning, forethought, or much beyond the immediate need.
A tale as old as time.
The amount of money tossed into the project was no small number, Marchenne was meant to be the pinnacle of new age technology. No one bothered to wonder if the poor could afford a magical light in every building but they did it anyway. This led to Terrénieur , landlords---people who could afford the luxury no one asked for, and could make money from the poor who’s only option was to pay someone else for the luxury of living in their own homes. A concept originally foreign to this world brought to you by poor government planning.
Now, over a century since its chaotic construction, Marchenne stands as a unique testament to both magic and poor planning—a combination that has somehow earned it praise as a "marvelous success."
This haphazard design was why following a string of windows took Rose and Dahlia farther than expected. Their walk became a pleasant journey, giving them time to digest their meal as they strolled through the market. Windows were a rare and expensive luxury that were abundant in this city, leading to a design that had the buildings divided in a way that gave one storefront a large window while incorporating two additional, smaller stores at the behind it.
Each structure followed the same practical pattern: door, window, glass door, door. This sequence repeated along the curved path of the market, creating a continuous circle of buildings. At its edges stood large iron gates, rusted and unused over the years, which could control the unruly peasants should they get uppity.
The first door led inside, past the windowed storefront, providing access to a small shop tucked just behind the main store. The second door, made of glass, opened directly into the windowed store itself, while the third door led to a more modestly sized shop that shared the same building.
This unique layout allowed the originally planned design, created to cater to nobles, to house three stores instead of one. It accommodated two inexpensive shops alongside a moderately priced store that could display its wares leisurely, drawing in customers. The others had to make do with signs.
The place the server had said was Ben’s place, for example—a large wooden sign featuring a needle under thread. Its design suggested a lack of trust in the carver’s ability to showcase the needle before the thread. Like most signs, it was cheap and told a simple story. But Rose’s attention wasn’t drawn to the signs. Instead, her eyes landed on one of the windows where shoes were clearly on display.
Rose paused, staring for a moment. Dahlia, unaware of her aunt’s sudden stop, tugged on her hand. “Auntie Rose?” she asked, her eyes following the older woman’s gaze as they landed on the shoes. “Wow, what are those?”
The question was an answer in itself. Rose glanced down at her own feet, wrapped in old, worn cloth—a common sight in the area for both commoners and villagers alike. Even the less notable nobles wore foot wraps in this world, though theirs were far finer, often lined with leather soles, sandals if anything else.
“Aunt Rose?” Dahlia questioned, tugging gently on her hand.
Rose shook her head, snapping out of her thoughts. She wasn’t sure what had stilled her so completely, but she gave Dahlia’s hand a reassuring squeeze. “Those are shoes,” she explained, pointing to the display. “They’re like your foot wraps, but sturdier. You put them on your feet and tie them together. They’re more protective, and they feel a lot better. Would you like to try some—after we get you some clothes?”
“Shoes?” Dahlia repeated, tilting her head curiously. “Do we need them?”
The question caught Rose off guard, and she hesitated. “Well, no… we don’t need them,” she admitted slowly. “But they’d be nice to have.”
Dahlia gave a small shrug. “Then maybe we don’t need them. Wouldn’t it be better to save money?”
Rose’s heart clenched at the child’s words, she moved to deny them but her throat tightened as well. An awkward silence hung between them, broken by the spiraling city moving before them. “You’re right,” she finally murmured, her voice slightly shaky. She squeezed Dahlia’s hand, trying to steady herself. “What a smart child you are,” she added, ruffling her hair with a faint smile. “Come now, let’s get you some clothes.”
With that, she led Dahlia inside the shop with the needle-and-thread sign. A musty smell of fabric filled the air as they entered the dim passageway, lit only by the soft glow of magical spheres mounted on the ceiling, like a fantasy styled fluorescent light. The interior was a chaotic mess. Linen was draped haphazardly over tables, bolts of fabric lay in heaps, and garments were scattered everywhere—some crumpled, some neatly pressed, but none in any sort of order.
Just as Rose wondered if the clothes piled around them had ever been washed, a voice suddenly echoed through the room.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Ladies!”
The chaotic mound of fabric shifted, and a small, wiry man emerged. His dark gray hair stuck out at wild angles, and the deep circles under his eyes made them appear almost black. His wide smile stretched unnervingly, revealing slightly crooked teeth, and his piercing green eyes, narrowed to tiny irises, gave him a disturbingly predatory look. The effect was only heightened as he spread his arms wide in a dramatic gesture to greet them.
“Welcome to the shop! How can I assist you?” he asked, his voice high with an almost manic cheerfulness. Rose instinctively took a cautious step back, her grip on Dahlia’s hand tightening. She eyed the man warily.
Dahlia, however, seemed unfazed. She stepped forward proudly, planting her feet and puffing out her chest. “Clothes!” she declared with enthusiasm, her voice clear and confident.
“Clothes?” the man repeated, his gaze darting between Dahlia and Rose. His lips twitched into something resembling a grin. “For the delicate madame? Or perhaps the little…” he paused, his eyes flicking to Dahlia for barely a moment, “cherub?”
“Just for her,” Rose interjected quickly, her frown deepening as she stepped slightly in front of Dahlia. “She’s starting school soon, and we need to make her presentable. Though I was told you don’t do children’s clothes.” She turned on her heel, ready to leave. “So, we’ll be on our way—”
Before she could finish, the man was suddenly in front of her again, stepping smoothly out of a pile of clothes as though he’d materialized from the fabric itself. Rose’s breath caught as his sharp green eyes locked onto hers, narrowing with a strange intensity.
“Nonsense!” he cried, his voice ringing out as he spread his arms wide. “I’ve been known to dabble with… well…” He hesitated, his lips twitching uncomfortably as he avoided finishing the thought. “So, just for the young one?” His gaze flicked to Dahlia, then quickly back to Rose, his sharp eyes making her take another cautious step back.
“But Auntie Rose needs new clothes too!” Dahlia piped up, her small voice cutting through the tension. She looked up at Rose with large, pleading eyes, her expression as earnest as ever. “Isn’t that right, Auntie?”
Rose opened her mouth to protest but hesitated, her eyes dropping to her own attire. Her dress, patched together with heavy stitches, clung tightly to her frame, held more by hope than fabric. She sighed, relenting. “I suppose I could—”
“Excellent!” the man interrupted, clapping his hands together with glee. His enthusiasm was almost infectious—almost.
Before Rose could respond, he dove behind a nearby pile of laundry with surprising speed. She blinked, caught between the urge to laugh and the instinct to flee. Moments later, he reappeared, his wiry frame emerging triumphantly from the fabric with an armful of garments.
“I don’t normally handle children’s clothes,” he admitted, handing Dahlia a bundle of dresses. “But a large client of mine just left town—decided to look for ‘better opportunities.’” He rolled his eyes dramatically, scoffing. “As if there’s any better place for trade than Marchenne! Ridiculous.” His laugh teetered between genuine amusement and something more biting, the tension in its undertone raising the hairs on the back of Rose’s neck.
Without missing a beat, he thrust a few dresses into Rose’s hands and clapped her on the back with surprising familiarity. “The bastard probably fell out of favor with the Rezulto mark my words. But enough of that! Come, come! Try these on!” His energy never waned as he shepherded her toward the changing rooms.
With a flick of his wrist, he opened a curtain and practically tossed her inside with alarming agility. The fabric hissed as it slid shut, leaving Rose momentarily stunned, clutching the bundle of dresses as though bracing for what might come next.
Rose hesitated as she stood inside her small changing area, clutching the bundle of dresses the man had thrust into her arms. The curtain hung closed behind her, swaying slightly in the dim, musty air.
Setting the dresses aside, she quietly pushed the curtain open and stepped out. “Something wrong?” he asked, his tone still cheerful but with a faint edge of curiosity.
Rose quickly shook her head. “She might need help,” she said, biting her lip before stepping into Dahlia’s booth.
“Of course, of course!” the man replied, waving a hand dismissively as he wandered off. “I’ll find my needles and thread—now, where did I put them?” His voice, disappearing back into the folds of fabric.
Rose pulled the curtain shut behind her and turned to see Dahlia holding up a dress with wide eyes. “Look at all this!” the girl exclaimed, her voice full of wonder. “They feel so nice! And they’re so pretty!”
A faint smile tugged at Rose’s lips. “Yes, they are,” she agreed, but then sighed softly, her tone shifting to something more serious. “But,” she added, crouching slightly to meet Dahlia’s eyes, “you can’t let anyone tell you what to do just because something seems nice.”
Dahlia tilted her head, her brows knitting together in confusion. “What do you mean, Auntie?”
Rose hesitated, pinching the bridge of her nose as she searched for the right words. “This isn’t like the village,” she began carefully. “People here aren’t always… kind. Not everyone will look out for you the way we do at home. Sometimes,” she continued, her voice soft but firm, “people might act nice just to get you to trust them. But that doesn’t mean they are nice.”
Dahlia tilted her head before nodding. “Look at this one, Auntie!” Dahlia exclaimed suddenly, turning and pulling up a soft badge dress. Her face lit up, and she held out the dress like a prize. “Isn’t it so pretty?”
Rose exhaled softly, her shoulders relaxing slightly. She stepped fully into view, offering Dahlia a faint smile. “Yes, it’s very pretty,” she said. “Do you need help?”
Dahlia shook her head, already pulling the dress over her head with the carefree ease of a child. “I’m fine! You should try yours too, Auntie Rosie!”
“Okay, okay,” Rose said with a small smile, nodding toward Dahlia. Together, the pair began trying on the clothes they’d been given. The fabrics felt softer and sturdier than Rose had expected—a welcome change from the rough, threadbare garments she was used to.
As they adjusted the first outfits, the man returned. “Let’s see, let’s see!” he exclaimed.
Rose stepped cautiously out of her booth, smoothing the front of her dress and casting him a wary glance. “It fits fine,” she said curtly. “I’ll take it.”
“Of course you will!” he replied, his grin widening as if she’d given him the highest compliment. “But not before I finish the adjustments! Everything must fit perfectly, or it’s not worth wearing!”
Without waiting for permission, he whipped a length of measuring tape from his pocket and approached her with alarming speed. He circled her like a hawk, his eyes darting over the fit of the dress as he muttered to himself.
Rose stiffened slightly as he tugged at the fabric around her waist and shoulders, mumbling about seams and hems. “A few tweaks here, a pinch there… yes, yes. Ugh, really, darling, you must eat more food,” he tutted, shaking his head with exaggerated disapproval.
Her jaw tightened, and she opened her mouth to argue, but he steamrolled ahead. “Got it! Back inside—strip, strip! By the time you’re done with the first dress, I’ll have this one ready. Go, go!” He waved his hands dramatically, practically ushering her back into the changing booth.
Rose stumbled slightly as she turned back inside, muttering under her breath. “Unbelievable,” she hissed. Before she could gather her thoughts, she heard his voice again.
“Now, you!” he declared, turning to Dahlia. He gave her a cursory glance, barely pausing. “That should be fine as is. Go, go! Try the other dress. I’m waiting!”
Dahlia giggled and nodded, disappearing back into her booth with the next outfit. Rose, however, rolled her eyes as she tugged the curtain closed. “We should’ve gone to Madam Henish’s,” she muttered darkly, pulling the dress over her head.