-The Human Girl-

Chapter eleven - The Dress.

Isabella's POV:
(Age fourteen)

My dear Isabella,

Have four whole months already passed? It seems like the snow has barely melted off the trees, and already you are set to be fifteen! I'm afraid I cannot say much, other than how much I miss you, for I feel your absence like a hole in my chest, new and painful everyday. Our affairs are certainly in order, so I can say that your season has not been in vain — the harvests are set to be well this year, and the livestock fit and healthy.

Unfortunately, of course, it appears that the outlaws and bandits are coming closer towards us, their last sighting having been up near first beach, where I hear they have supporters. I'm sure you must have heard the rumours, but there have been several cases of burnt down crops and thefts, all surrounding the Lord Emmet.

But, aside from that, our prospects are good. I hope you know that I love you very much, and I wish you a very happy birthday, for you are so nearly grown!

Yours,

Charles Esquire.

I put the parchment down and frowned. This wasn't right.
The box had arrived that morning, accompanied by my father's letter, but I was fairly sure that it was wrong. The letter was too short, for one, nothing like the sort my father usually sent me, as he knew the cost of messengers to be too great for anything less than a page — not to mention the fact that he'd written to me to me earlier that week, making this particular letter far too early to be but a mere coincidence.

I strummed my fingers against the wooden table tensely, trying hard to think of what could inspire such a strange arrival. I was nervous, already guessing what would be in the box. My father was kind, but he knew when things had to be done, and since the entire point of me going to court was to get a good proposal it seemed fairly obvious what he intended.

But fourteen was too young to be married, even by a Squire's standards, and he knew that I would not be fifteen for another seven months — this was far too early to be normal. I picked up the envelope and shook it, trying to see if there was anything else in there that might help me to make sense of this.

Nothing.

I took a deep breath, dropping the envelope on top of the parchment. Better see what he's sent me, I thought lifting up the lid of the box. Inside, wrapped in several fine sheets of muslin, was an astonishing blood red gown. It was a rich burgundy sort of colour, the kind only royalty could afford, and was covered entirely in beautiful gold stitching. I gaped at the dress and it's matching undergarments, completely winded by the sheer magnificence of the gown.

I stroked the soft velvet sleeve, the surprise wearing off just a little. How had my father, a simple squire, afforded such a thing? It was surely worth more than our entire state, yet here it was before me. I lifted it out of the box to examine it closely, skimming my hands through the soft I fabric. I remembered once telling Rosalie that my birthday was in February, just so I would seem a bit less childish.

The patterns sewn onto the dress were amazing, different shades of gold and black painted across the fabric like a canvas, adding a complex swirling element to the already wonderful item. I ran my fingers along the hem line of the skirt, stopping when I came to a slight ridge on the fabric. It had been creating by heavy sewing in one particular area, so I flipped over the cloth and examined the symbol stitched there.

I gasped and felt my face drain of colour. It had not been my father who sent the dress. It had been the princesses.

Of course, this actually made a lot of sense, since the Cullen coat of arms was sewn right on skirt, in a place that only I would see. So the princesses were trying to tell me something — but what? It had already been two agonisingly long months since I'd last seen them, the terrible day with the prince being the last time I spoke to either of them.

Clutching at my stomach, I tried not to crumple up on myself. I missed them, there was no mistaking the truth. I missed them with every fibre of my being. How could I not? They made me feel loved, safe and important in a place which made no time for that; they were the only people who I could talk to about the purgatory I now lived in.

Only it wasn't purgatory anymore, it was hell. With no one to talk to I was left blundering around court, trying not to make a fool of myself as I guessed at what the right etiquette might be. The Queen was patient, but the other humans were not, and I was getting increasingly worried about the callous remarks of the king's Page boys. "Isabella!" they'd shout, Michael Newton most of all. "Can't wait to see what you show us today!"

I'd shudder and hurry past, but I had not forgotten the day I'd first met the Newton boy, when he had attacked me outside of Alice's rooms. I stroked the crest again and turned the cloth over. "Mary," I called softly, summoning the little handmaid to the chamber. Angela and Jessica were in the other room, talking to some other lady's maid about the coming dance. It was on tonight, to celebrate the birth of the archduke Jasper, for the 158th year, and was the occasion that called for such a dress.

Mary helped me into the dress, fastening the back for me and helping me to tie the corset. I sucked in a deep breath as she yanked on the strings, pulling my stomach in as tight as it would go. Once I had attached the sleeves and arranged my hair I stepped back to look in the mirror. "Oh," I said out loud, while Mary smiled.

"You look wonderful, m'lady," she said, and I thanked her. The dress looked even better when worn then in the box, the satin shimmering slightly in the light. I turned a little to the side, watching carefully to see if the crest showed. It didn't. I smiled at Mary, who excused herself, and shut the lid on the box. "Okay," I whispered. "You can do this, even if they're there."

My heart throbbed slightly at the memory of my two best friends, but I refused to think of it. Of course they would be there, but I would have to deal with it.