The Masked King: A Trump Fantasy AU

~1~

My name was Anna.

Technically, I was Iridanna Morgan Wolflight, for that was the name my parents bestowed upon me at my birth. However, I was rid of that appellation the moment I arrived on Madame Xolotta's doorstep, a mere girl of eleven years with "wide eyes and an empty stomach," as I had been later described. Madame had asked me what I liked to be called, and upon hearing my response, had decided instantly that my given name was far too stately to belong to a laborer. 

Consequently, the first four letters of my name were trimmed off and forgotten by all but my poor mother, whom my hectic work schedule only allowed me to visit on holidays. I became Anna Wolf- a name perfectly suited to Madame's succinct, to-the-point nature. 

"Anna!" Madame Xolotta screeched, her voice easily carrying over the noisy hubbub of the workshop. "Come here, Anna, dear!" 

Though her mode of address suggested an attempt at kindness to those who worked under her, there was nothing kind or personal about her. Madame was all business. 

Not that I was complaining, of course. I had it great, actually. There were hundreds of thousands of small business owners across Amaerica who abused their employees. The government couldn't care less. 

"Yes, Madame?" I brushed the edges of my stained skirt out of my way, rising from my seat on my usual, sweaty stool at the front of Xolotta's Tailors and advanced towards the back of the workshop, dodging hordes of other sewing and sweeping girls, all armed with the vestments of their various offices. 

All two hundred pounds of Madame Xolotta stood proudly at the back of the shop. Three new dresses were draped across each of her arms, each in a vibrantly different color. 

"Ah, Anna, there you are," she sighed deeply, causing her entire body to shake uncontrollably for what seemed like more than ten minutes. For a few moments, I feared that her ridiculously tight corset would snap open, and she would spill out onto the bare, wooden floor. It certainly wouldn't have been a pleasant sight. "I have a very important task for you." 

"Anything, Madame," I chirped confidently. After eight years on my job, I was quite sure that I could handle anything she could possibly throw at me. The way I looked at it, extra work meant extra food for my poor, blind mother. 

"You must make a dress." 

It took a good deal of self control not to burst out laughing at this obvious statement. I was a seamstress! Of course I was tasked with making a dress! What else was I to do, strengthen the King's new wall between Amaerica and Maexico? 

"It is to be no ordinary dress," she specified, as if reading my thoughts. "Here." She handed me a stack of detailed diagrams, depicting the various layers of a glorious, lilac ballgown. I gaped at the drawings- that dress was to contain more fabric than I had ever worn in my lifetime! 

Who could afford that, in the middle of a recession? 

"Please, do pardon me for asking, but...who is the dress for?" 

"Princess Ivanka." Madame's naturally red cheeks rose with pride. 

My jaw slowly dropped as I looked from Madame to the diagrams. "A-As in...the Crown Princess of Amaerica!?" I simply couldn't believe the fact that I was about to make a dress for the King's favorite daughter and chosen heiress. 

"Yes," Madame smiled. "We received the order from Washadonnie this morning. As soon as I heard that we had a Royal request, I knew that you were the girl for the job. Now, get to it! We don't want to keep the Princess waiting!"

Nodding my assent, I scrambled back to my station with the diagrams in hand, assessing the amount of silk that would be needed to complete the job to the highest degree. 

I worked long past the end of the workday, sewing sequins into place by candlelight. Even Madame had retired to her bedroom, which was appended to her workshop's rear. 

I sighed with satisfaction, holding up the completed inner layer of the dress. The bodice was crafted of priceless lace from Aesia, and the folds of silk fell past it like waves of water. Even unfinished, it was beautiful. 

Overcome by a sudden, childish impulse, I slipped the dress over my head, pulling the strings tight behind my back. The longing that took ahold of me when I stared at my reflection in the grimy display mirror before me surprised me. I had always been content with my life. There were many who were far worse off than I was. 

Despite my best efforts to control my mind, I stepped forward, carefully lifting the hem of the gown as a lady would. As I stood there, staring deeply into the mirror, I dreamed for the first time in more than ten years of what it would be like to be the daughter of a King.