Viego and Isolde's Story

Chapter 1- Isolde

The steady rhythm of a needle weaving through fabric drowned the commotion of bustling customers from the next room over. Made of silver and an outdated body and frame, an antique sewing machine gleamed with ethereal magic. No pedal rested below the table, and no thread sit atop its silver body. There were no signs of tiny stitches binding the fabric together; as if the thread didn't exist at all.

Within a few moments of lace being sewn onto the soft sleeve, the doorknob rattled anxiously. From behind the enchanting machine, a young seamstress' questioning eyes rose from the sleeve held in her delicate hands. She glanced at the slightly leaning bookshelf obstructing a clear view of the door as if she could see her silver-haired assistant frantically twisting the knob. Sounds of it turning again pierced the silence, and with growing annoyance, tore the young woman away from her focus completely.

She knew whoever waited beyond the door would tell her anyway, but asked, "Yes?"

In a soft and apologetic tone, "There are too many customers, news of the prince's coronation surfaced."

Speak to a number of strangers was the implication in that statement. She would have to greet and carry on conversations with any number of people. The thought dropped a pit in her stomach.

Wrinkling her nose at the unspoken request her friend made, the seamstress stood from her stool and reached below the sewing table. Within a heartbeat, a mystical royal blue shimmering cloth was thrown over the machine and unfinished dress. She sauntered behind the bookshelf, angled in such a way the door's opening could not provide a view of her precious sewing machine. She straightened her unkempt hair and brushed her apron free of string and fabric remnants. To no avail did she look any better, but at least she tried.

Behind the door, three ornate slightly rusted locks were fixed in various positions along the doorframe. It took a few moments for each of their respective keys to be found and then unlocked, giving an opportunity to brace for the oncoming excitement. Opening the door leaked light and sounds of clamoring women inquiring about the latest fabrics and designs.

At the sound of the door closing, and then again being locked, every young woman turned to the seamstress wide-eyed and begging for her attention.

"Isolde!" They all cried out, each frantically trying to reach for her.

Bright eyes and a warm smile looked at each face in the foyer of the shop, gaze holding steady. "Please everyone, quiet your voices. I ask you to assemble in a single file line along the rope my assistant, Gwen, is currently placing." She held a stiff open palm in the direction of the front door. "It leads just outside the shop. For the trouble of losing your place and waiting outside, I offer a complimentary layer of lace on your next custom order. Gwen and I will begin writing individual vouchers upon speaking with you."

She could do it. Swallow the anxiety of speaking to so many different people. After all, moments ago she had spoken to all of them at once easily enough.

That must have been the reason Gwen was so hesitant to ask for help.

Much to her horror, shrieks erupted from the young women waiting but were quickly hushed after Isolde raised her eyebrows in a silent stare. They'd all quieted and swept behind the braided gold cord running parallel to the wall, thankfully without causing too much of a scene. Nearby, she slipped behind the polished sandstone counter and motioned for a young lady dressed in vibrant yellow crowned in jewels to come forward.

Her glace wandered to Gwen, who was now happily assisting an older woman in deciding the best dress color to compliment her grey-streaked hair. Isolde chuckled softly, as Gwen recommended her usual. A blue richer than the sea just beyond the shop.