Living Like a Mouse? How About a Lion?

The Red Gown

Time passes in this place, but it's like being trapped in a cage. Sure, the door is open sometimes, but you're still not free. After my eventful encounter with Derrick, things had been relatively calm—too calm.

Of course, that couldn't last.

I was called to a fitting. The designers had arrived, hand-picked by the Duke himself, as if the perfect dress could somehow make everything better. As if dressing me up in silks and lace would fix the cracks in this family.

Yeah, sure.

 A pretty gown will totally solve the fact that I'm one insult away from daring someone else to kill me.

The fitting room was filled with an assortment of fabrics in colors I didn't care for—soft pastels, delicate whites, dainty blues. The kind of stuff that looked lovely on Ivonne.

You know, the perfect little noble daughter. 

Not me. 

Never me.

The head designer, a woman with an attitude as sharp as her sewing needles, fussed over the dresses they had prepared, clearly imagining me in something straight out of a fairytale.

"We've chosen a selection of gowns that will complement your complexion and—" she started, her voice dripping with the kind of false cheer people use when they're trying to sell you something.

Ugh, here we go.

But I wasn't here to play dress-up in the image of some idealized, fragile noblewoman. No. I was here to make a statement. I was here to remind them all that I wasn't their delicate doll to be dressed and paraded around.

My eyes scanned the racks, passing over the pastel abominations until something caught my attention—a flash of deep crimson.

"Let me see that one," I said, cutting the designer off mid-sentence.

She blinked in surprise and hesitated. "The red one, my lady? That's a rather bold choice. It's... not exactly suitable for a royal banquet."

Oh, I know. 

That's exactly why I want it.

"Bring it," I ordered, my voice leaving no room for argument.

With a reluctant nod, she motioned for her assistants to bring over the gown. It was perfect. Blood-red silk, with black lace trimming the edges, the kind of dress that whispered danger. It wasn't soft or gentle. It was bold. Fierce. Unapologetic.

And most importantly, it was completely wrong for a formal event.

I smiled as I reached out to touch the fabric, running my fingers over the smooth material. "This one," I said, more to myself than to the designer. "I'll wear this one."

The head designer shifted nervously. "But my lady, this gown is... well, it's rather unconventional. It doesn't have the, um, grace or modesty expected for such an occasion. Perhaps we could—"

"Are you questioning my choice?" I cut her off, my tone ice-cold.

The room went silent. I could practically hear the sound of the designer swallowing her objections.

Exactly.

"I'm not interested in looking like every other woman at that banquet," I continued, stepping into the gown. "I'm not here to fit into your idea of what I should be."

The assistants scrambled to adjust the dress, lacing it up and fussing over the way it clung to me. The red fabric shimmered like blood under the light, and the black lace gave it an edge that was perfect. It was everything I needed.

When I finally looked in the mirror, I almost didn't recognize myself. The girl staring back at me wasn't the fragile noble they expected me to be. She wasn't the scared, powerless Penelope of before.

No, this girl was dangerous. Fierce. She was a lioness ready to bare her fangs.

Now, that's more like it.

The designer tried one last time to object. "My lady, are you certain this is the image you wish to present? There will be many important guests, including Prince—"

I smiled, dark and wicked. "Good. Then they'll remember me."

The designer looked ready to faint, but I didn't care. This dress wasn't for them. It was for me. I knew exactly what kind of impression I wanted to make. And if Prince Callisto happened to be there, well, one mad dog was bound to recognize another.

And I'll be ready.

As the assistants finished their work, tightening the last of the laces and fussing with the folds of the fabric, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror once more.

The red of the dress matched the blood that had dripped from my hand after my confrontation with Derrick. The black lace was like the shadows that followed me through this cursed life. But there was something else, too—a kind of power I hadn't felt in a long time.

I'm not just surviving anymore. 

I'm fighting back.

And I didn't care if the whole world saw it.

"Perfect," I said, finally satisfied. "This is exactly what I'll wear to the banquet."

The designer opened her mouth to protest again, but one sharp look from me silenced her. She knew better than to argue now.

I left the fitting room with my head held high, feeling the weight of the gown like armor. Let them talk. Let them whisper about how inappropriate it was. Let them judge.

It's about time they saw who I really am.