Fashion wasn’t something Sizilen ever put much consideration toward. She’d never been privileged enough to grow up in a world where clothes were anything more than something to shield one from the elements or the occasional wandering eye.

She was perfectly content being clothed for the most part. But there was always a part of her that imagined what it would be like to dress up.

Never had she ever considered her first real opportunity to experience fashion would occur on Earth.

During her time under the imposed quarantine, Sizilen had the opportunity to review many of the Outworlder films. As if the black-and-white silent films weren’t amazing enough, she’d been exposed to animated works like Fantasia and The Lion King. Princess Mononoke and Howl’s Moving Castle. Many of the men preferred the likes of Lord of the Rings or 300, but the animated features were by far the most wondrous examples of the films. They were like grand, ornate plays but without the need for live performance. They had music, laughter, sadness.

Unfortunately, nothing in those films prepared her for what the fashions of Canada were truly like. They were so far removed from Embrayyan fashion she found herself uncertain.

After she’d left the holding facility that morning, Sizilen had been moved to a vehicle. One of the vehicles she witnessed during the initial attack against Outworld, which she found to be surprisingly comfortable and smooth considering the speed at which they traveled on the Canadian highways.

She’d passed by numerous homes hidden by trees but neatly lined up against the roads. As she traveled, she saw the buildings grow from simple family homes to three-to-five storey dwellings the further into the city they traveled.

But even from there Sizilen could see the grand buildings in the distance. A distance they were closing, one stoplight at a time. Along the way, Miles and Kia did their best to explain everything as they could, however, Sizilen remained mystified.

Eventually, they reached what she’d only known was called Pacific Centre. She’d been led to believe it was a shop named for the ocean that the city had been built upon the shores of.

She was surprised to discover that Pacific Centre was not a shop, but a collection of many shops. It was like the bazaar in Tyrant’s Fall, except indoors and underground. It was a promenade lit up brightly, with so many different types of shops that she found herself lost in the wonder of it all.

And she had been given allowance to purchase goods from anywhere within the establishment.

She’d been shopping before, often with her father, but never been given so many options.

Some shops had goods. Others had luxuries the likes of which she had never seen. Others still had hundreds of different types of shoes, while others had clothing casual, formal, and whimsical.

She’d been told to choose a wardrobe for her time in Canada. After all, she couldn’t simply wear the prison overalls she’d been given since she’d arrived.

Kia was of particular use in Sizilen’s confusion when it came to Outworlder fashion. Which was appropriate to a dinner with a respected world leader? Tank tops and shorts, which Sizilen found to appear the most comfortable, or an asymmetrical evening gown that showed off her cleavage?

However, in the end, her choices of clothing were ultimately kept conservative by the standards of the culture. Casual clothing consisted of trousers, shorts, t-shirts and blouses, while two outfits were chosen for her for formal wear. One chosen for public appearances, and one for private. As she understood, she would partake in both.

Her entourage also took the time to eat a meal at a cooked food vendor calling itself Fatburger. She had questions about the name, but the burger she ate was especially good.

Afterwards, they’d driven deeper into the city, where the buildings were so tall she couldn’t see the top of them while inside the car. It took her into a cavern beneath a grand building. A hotel. It was like an inn, but made for the purpose of luxury and comfort. The hotel, as it stood, seemed to place a lot of importance upon their reputation. They had attentive servants who quickly came to take their bags and deliver them to the elevator.

That was an experience Sizilen hadn’t expected. At first she’d been confused when she and the others entered that small room, until she realized it moved while she was inside it. It took them up to twenty-two floors, and the doors opened upon a long hallway that led to what Miles had said was the Prime Minister Suite.

It was as big as the apartment she’d briefly stayed in at Tyrant’s Fall for the year leading up to the rebirth of the World Tree, except it was far more bright, clean-looking and the city lay much further below her.

Kia had shown her around the suite, before it was explained that she would be granted an around-the-clock entourage during her stay in Vancouver. She and Miles would be on it, as would Jarrod O’Neill, and a quiet, hard-eyed man named McKinley who didn’t speak much, even to the others. He knew all those with her were soldiers, but he was the first Canadian she’d met that acted like one. During the night, two more guards would be stationed at the entrance in case of emergency, and Kia would be staying with her during their stay there.

The bed was bigger and softer than she’d ever seen. There was a bathing room the likes of which she could never have imagined. The living room had many sofas, desks and even books upon the shelves. But the real gift was the outside patio. It had a wonderful view of a forest at the edge of a nearby shore. Stanley Park, they’d called it. And so high! She’d been on the back of more than one wyvern in her life, but even then she wasn’t sure they flew as high as she was.

And she would be living there until such time as she could earn her way home, or put back into a holding facility until she drew her last breath.

Kia had helped Sizilen get ready, but seemed particularly excited to show her the bath. Apparently this was a special sort of bath, the kind only found in the deepest laps of luxury even in a place so clearly as rich as Canada. Kia gave Sizilen a quick lecture on Canadian beauty standards. The shaving of women’s extraneous body hair was a custom she knew was observed in some of the exotic cultures of Nakrea, and she found that Canadians shared this custom. She made sure to explain that Sizilen was not a prisoner, and therefore could do as she wished with regards to how she presented herself.

Sizilen didn’t really have to consider it. She saw the models in the magazines that had been given to the men. Canadian– no, Earth women in general had an exotic beauty in how they appeared. Their make-up, their hair, how they used subtle coloring to draw attention to their lips and eyes and wore clothing that complimented their natural shapes.

The beauty standards of Embrayya has many parallels, but shaving every part of their body from their neck-down wasn’t one of them.

Still, Sizilen was no fool. She wouldn’t gain acceptance in Canada if she shirked their customs. Kia showed her how to use the razors, and she told her to pay particular attention to shaving her legs.

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Kia left her alone to tend to herself. And so she took her time, methodically shaving her armpits, her legs and was about to start on her arms and pubic region before Kia stopped her. Unless she was planning to be wearing a swimsuit, she wouldn’t have to worry about her pubic region, and the hair on her arms was just fine.

She helped wrap her up in a towel as she took her back to her bedroom. The men were all in the living room and averted their eyes from the two of them as they emerged. Sizilen found it to be curious. Nudity, she discovered, was something of a taboo in Canada. It confused her. The magazines she’d seen had women dressed in ways that left little to imagine, getting as close to nude as one could conceivably arrive. And yes, to be dressed in such ways in public wasn’t generally looked kindly upon in most social contexts.

She found it all rather interesting. Nudity and the expression of sexuality was forbidden to be frowned upon under the gods. The adherents of the goddess Vandima found nudity to be an expression of love, a symbol of trust for the world. The followers of Nudrin worshipped under his moon, and part of their ritual was the breaking-in of virgins. It honored the gods, whether they existed or not, and was just a normal part of Embrayyan life.

She could not fathom why these Canadians hid these things away, but she was in no place to question it.

Eventually, she was dressed, and Kia helped her apply subtle make-up.

They soon left the hotel, and another car picked them up and dropped them off a short distance away. They entered a large building with a grand foyer and walked to another elevator.

This one was different than the one in the hotel. It had a glass wall that looked outside and seemed to move so fast that Sizilen felt noticeably heavier as she rapidly shot into the sky. Watching the ground below gave her a sense of vertigo.

The sun was starting to set when she entered the peculiar restaurant. She was seated at a table alongside Miles and Kia, while Jarrod and McKinley stayed near the entrance. Miles drew her attention to the fact that they were moving. The very restaurant was spinning. Spinning slowly, but spinning in the sky above the building nonetheless. Sizilen was awestruck. The view of the city below them was further along every time she looked out the window.

And then, to some commotion, the Prime Minister and his wife arrived.

Sizilen stood and put her fist to her heart, bowing her head. “Prime Minister,” she said. “It is good to see you again. Thank you for granting me your suite. I am honored.”

Jonathan Pike looked at her funnily for a moment. “I’m sorry, my suite?”

“Miles Brady,” she said. “Tells me it is your suite.”

“Ah,” Miles suddenly said. “No, it’s called the Prime Minister Suite,” he explained. “It doesn’t belong to the Prime Minister.”

“Right,” Jonathan Pike said, laughing. “No, that suite belongs to the Fairmont Pacfic Rim,” he explained as he pulled out a chair for his wife. “I’ve stayed there before, but Jessica and I actually own property in North Vancouver now, so we generally stay there when we’re visiting.”

“Ah!” Sizilen said. “Yes, forgive me!”

“It’s fine,” Jessica Pike said. “I’m sure it’s a very nice suite.”

“It is. It has a bath like nothing on Ayndir,” she said. “It is many amazing.”

“Very,” Miles corrected her. “Very amazing.”

“Ah. Yes. Sorry. I am still learning your language,” Sizilen explained.

“You’re doing great for only starting to learn a couple of weeks ago,” Jessica commented. “Tell me, do you speak many other languages?”

“I speak the language of the Trade Nations,” she said. “The tongue of Turzan and some Ezhat.”

“They say the more languages you know, the easier it is to learn new ones,” Jessica said.

The continued with their conversation until their meals arrived. She found the Prime Minister’s wife to be delightfully charismatic. It reminded her of Arianell Duna, truth told. But like Arianell Duna, she couldn’t help but wonder about the driving force beneath such charisma.

It was put out of her mind when Jonathan Pike took the lead on the conversation.

“Sizilen,” he began. “You’ve been a great help even thus far, and our men are down there on Annacis Island starting the process of testing out the portal. They’re going to need your help with that, but for the next few days we’ve put together a schedule for you. A list of appearances we’d like for you to make.”

“Appearances?” Sizilen asked.

“The people of our world are curious about you. We want to show them that we’ve no reason to fear you or your people. Tomorrow morning, we’re going to show your face to the masses and start that process in earnest. We’ve prepared a press release kit that tells people who you are and about the world you represent. I’m not going to lie to you, in a few days time you’ll probably have one of the most recognizable faces on the planet.”

Sizilen was stunned by the thought. She could only blink questioningly in response, her fork still loaded with a piece of the steak she was eating.

“We’ve got two interviews with domestic media lined up tomorrow. TTV was the first to break the story, so we’ve given them the first opportunity to ask you questions. Afterwards, a CBC journalist will interview you at your hotel. The next day, CNN and BBC. At least until we can form relations with Embrayya, you’re going to have a big footprint here on Earth.”

“I don’t understand many of these words,” Sizilen said. “See-Bee-See? Bee-Bee-See?”

“They’re… news broadcasters,” Miles explained. “Groups of people who inform the public what’s going on.”

Sizilen suddenly understood. In her world, the Criers were a sect of the goddess Vyda that gave honor to the goddess by spreading news of the world. When one needed to know of current events in Embrayya and beyond, one need only visit the Crier’s Hall. There was one in every city and most towns across the nation. These strangely-named organizations were just Earth’s answer to the Criers.

“I believe I understand,” she said.

“Oh, we should really invite her to the Steward’s Gala next week,” Jessica suggested.

“I’m sorry. What is this Steward’s Gala?”

“It’s great. It’s a fundraiser to help clean the oceans, probably one of the biggest international social events in Vancouver this year,” she continued to explain, then looked to her husband. “She’d be a great guest to have there.”

“We can talk about that,” Pike replied.

“I do not understand. You have a dirty ocean? It seems clean to me,” Sizilen said.

“There’s a floating mass of plastic in the Pacific Ocean three times the size of France,” Jessica argued. “It’s disgusting. So we get together once a year to help raise money to have it cleaned. It would be wonderful to have you there,” she said.

This woman wanted something from her, but Sizilen couldn’t tell what just yet. Perhaps it was innocent. Perhaps she merely saw Sizilen as a tool to raise her social profile. But it was clear to her that the woman of the most powerful man in the country was a force to be considered independently of him.

Despite that, Sizilen could see Jessica Pike for what she was– a means to an end. If attending this gala would improve her chances of gaining their trust and finding her way home, then she’d participate.

She still got the impression she needed to tread carefully around the woman.

“I would be honored,” Sizilen replied. “To attend would give me great pleasure.”

“Oh I have some friends you simply must meet,” Jessica added.

Sizilen didn’t have a choice but to dance for these Canadians if she hoped to get home. Befriending them at least gave her an opportunity to dance to her own music. She would speak to their Criers. She would attend their parties. She would learn names and associate with whomever she had to.

Jessica reminded her so much of Arianell Duna that it reminded her for a moment where she actually was. She had been treated kindly, but she suspected it wasn’t just because she was cooperative. She was in a world with weapons that could kill even wyverns from a distance, route multiple regiments of Embrayyan forces within minutes and send voices and pictures a vast distance in but an instant.

They surely wanted something from her. What, Sizilen couldn’t fathom, and that frightened her.

She would dance for them, at least until she could find out what it was they wanted from her, then she would use that to get her back home and on the way to the Wasted Lands with her promised regiment. There, she would take her father back from the clutches of the demons.

That was her purpose. Not to bask in the glory of recognition, whether it be on Earth or on Ayndir. But to get back the only man who had never lied to her.