A Sprinkle of Stardust

Chapter 1 - Orders

WARNING: This story contains strong language and depictions of sexual assault that may be upsetting for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.

"So, allow me to confirm." Dessie lowered her gaze to the parchment in front of her, then looked up at Lyrani. "You need three dresses in two days' time: one made from sunshine, one from moonlight, and another made from stardust."

"Did someone say 'stardust'?" The old elf behind Dessie turned, gripping a notebook in her leathery hand.

"Just a sprinkle," Lyrani said quickly, noticing the telltale gleam in Omiane's eyes.

She had ordered a dress sewn from rose petals once, and Omiane had certainly delivered—right down to the thorns and dewdrops. It made a statement, but Lyrani would have preferred not to spend her evening pricking her arms every time she rested them against her sides while her dress leaked into her shoes.

Omiane pursed her lips. "I shall make a note of that, dearie."

Her eyes misted over. Lyrani imagined Omiane was going to that place only the old seamstress could go, where magic abounded, nothing was excessive, and anything was possible, at least with regard to clothing design.

"It's going to compliment your skin tone beautifully." Omiane's puckered mouth stretched into a smile.

Lyrani looked down at her hand. For a moment, she could see what the seamstress saw, the shimmering dust popping against her brown skin.

Lyrani had always thought stardust was where it belonged—decorating the heavens—but perhaps it wouldn't look too bad on her either. Perhaps it would make her feel like a star, as fierce and mesmerising in beauty as the night sky.

Omiane blinked away her vision. Her eyes cleared as she returned to reality. "Dessie, why are you still standing here? Didn't you hear Lyrani? Get to work!"

"Yes, madam!" Dessie flushed red to the tips of her pointy ears then grabbed Lyrani's order form.

She glanced at Lyrani before scurrying away.

Dessie was acquainted with Lyrani's work well enough to know never to mention a word of it in the boutique, but she hadn't yet mastered the art of masking the emotions on her face, of hiding the feelings that could be used against her by any trained eye.

Lyrani narrowed her eyes as her best friend disappeared behind the wooden wall separating the lift to the seamstresses' workroom from the rest of the store.

Dessie knew something she wasn't saying, and Lyrani was going to find out what it was. Perhaps it was something to do with the mission the dresses were intended for.

Before Lyrani could set off in pursuit of her friend and the truth sealed behind her lips, Omiane set her notebook on the table.

"Are you off to somewhere exciting, dearie?" She flipped through the book, licking her finger as she went.

The pages moved too quickly for Lyrani to read, but it was no surprise when Omiane stopped, muttering to herself as she ran her finger down the instructions on how to craft a wedding gown from shedded swan feathers. She had been in the business her whole life, long enough to learn where everything was located in her shop and where every design was in which notebook.

"I believe I am."

Lyrani didn't know much about her latest mission, but according to Lord Dundor, there was dancing involved. That combined with the order of dresses fancier than anything Lyrani had worn in years could only mean one thing.