Star of Persia

Chapter 7

After allowing myself a few minutes of sorrowful tears, I attempt to pull myself together. My tear-stained face stares back at me in the gilded looking glass and I wipe away the smudged kohl that leaves trails down my cheeks.

Fresh tears spring up despite my attempts to banish them, and an unladylike choke escapes my mouth. Now that I am alone, the bravery I fought to maintain the last few days begins to crumble into small pieces.

"Look at you now, Hadassah," I tell my reflection in a low, pained voice. "Destined to live out your life in a perfumed prison, almost certainly as a concubine."

I grimace and look away, standing from the overly opulent bed to search for a handkerchief. Finding one folded neatly on the refreshment room vanity, I sigh and lean heavily on the wall. For a time, I stare at nothing, occasionally dabbing my eyes with the soft material.

Eventually, my legs start to give way beneath me and I slide down the wall and settle on the plush rug. Time seems to drag by slowly, only the patterned shadows from a tall window an indication that the world hasn't frozen.

By the time there is a polite knock at the door, my tears have dried. I idly trace the complex, beautiful patterns stitched into the rug as I murmur a half-hearted, "Come in".

A maidservant I haven't seen before, dressed in well-fitting clothes and immaculately put together, approaches me. Her walk is even and sure and an amiable smile beautifies her otherwise plain features. A small bag hangs from one shoulder and a tape measure drapes over the other. Her eyes widen when she sees me slumped against the wall, wet handkerchief in hand and a forlorn expression on my face.

Clucking her tongue, she strides over and bends to offer me a hand to rise. I accept her offered hand and try to rise as gracefully as I can. The servant woman regards me thoughtfully, eyes assessing me boldly, but not unkindly.

"Hello," I say weakly, smoothing out the wrinkles in the fabric of my dress.

"Charming to meet you," she replies brightly, gesturing for me to follow her. "My name is Omarosa, and I will be your seamstress for the next year of beauty preparations. I am to take your measurements before the mid-morning meal."

"M-my own seamstress?" I stammer. A seamstress just for me?

"I will, of course, be assisting a few other women of the House of Rosa," she says with a twinkle in her eye, and I blush. She positions me in front of a tall mirror and sets down her bag.

"You must be Esther," she continued, glancing down at a small list that contains two names.

"Yes," I say, suddenly remembering my manners. "I apologise, it has been... a long two days."

"It is quite the adjustment," she admits, busying herself with various trinkets and tools I recognise as high-quality sewing instruments and pins. "Could you take off your dress so my measurements are accurate?"

I freeze for a moment before nodding slowly. She helps me step out of the pomegranate dress and I am left standing awkwardly in my underclothes. Omarosa doesn't seem to notice my discomfort and sets herself to wrapping tapes measures over every part of me and scribbling down numbers onto a tablet. She hums to herself as she works and eventually, I start to relax in her warm, unhurried company.

She makes small talk with me about the weather and the creators of the daring mosaics and luxurious tapestries. Her fingers move with expert dexterity as she chatters about an Eastern artesian who is teaching her new ways to work with rare textiles and fabrics sourced from faraway and exotic places.

"How did you come to be in this position?" I ask curiously as she compares small swatches of brightly coloured cloth to my skin tone.

"My father is the king's appointed head trader of dyes and fabrics," she explains to me with a polished smile, "I have always had an interest in his work and he secured me a place as a seamstress in the Court of Virgins. I began in the lower houses and have been promoted to the House of Rosa for my work."