Reapers - Thirteen Brothers

XXXVII- Preparations

We were dismissed, on our way to our rooms when I heard Vincent shouting the foulest curses to his older brother whose good mood wasn't at all affected. Apparently, my master wasn't thrilled at the thought of me dancing with the rest of his brothers at some point in the ball.

What was the big deal? Basically, all I had to do was to find out who among the brothers had the same exact injuries Vincent and Amyr managed to inflict on the intruder.

Piece of cake. If only I could dance to save my life.

Vladimir promised to teach me everything from ancient immortal rituals, to table etiquette and most importantly, dancing. Gracefully. We seriously needed a miracle.

I kept nodding as Mei narrated her long list of plans for our ball gowns, pointing out how this and that color and design could complement our eyes, skin tone, figure, etcetera, etcetera. Honestly, I couldn't care less if she weaved a burlap sack for me. My brain mechanically operated on its own as we moved along, searching for any possible way to prevent Vincent from having to face a capital punishment.

Rosario was so silent I hadn't noticed she was walking beside me. Her forehead was speckled with sweat as she clutched on her injured chest. I could only imagine the pain she was in. I let her be, knowing that her pride wouldn't allow for any form of pity or concern. Inconspicuously, I slowed my steps so she could catch up easily.

Once in Mei's room, the Asian girl pulled a bronze candle holder upholstered on the chrome yellow wall. I heard a click and a secret door slid open, leading to a big dressing room. Ceiling to floor cabinets and mirrors lined the walls, rolls of different fabric lying on the craft table in the center of the room.

Mei let out a sigh. "Too bad I only have black Nysmic to work on. I will immediately place an order for, let us say, blue or yellow?"

Reluctantly, I shook my head, unable to shake off the apprehension that gnawed on me. "Black is good," I said, looking at Rosario for some sort of expert opinion.

"Sure," she retorted, smiling acidly. "If you wanted to look like you're mourning in a party.Or boldly defiant."

"Makes sense." I shrugged, pushing past Rosario to examine a piece of black fabric that looked exactly similar to lace with an elaborate decorative vine pattern. "Just thinking of going there makes me feel like we're going to a funeral anyway."

Rosario discreetly clutched her chest after letting out a wry chuckle. "You're pulling off all the wrong strings. But then, it's just like you to do that. Let's see what happens," she replied, looking overly amused.

With a worried look, Mei took the fabric from me and spread it out. It looked more magnificent, now that the Nysmic inscriptions were more obvious, dancing in a waving motion, like grass being blown by a soft breeze on the gossamer surface of the cloth. I could tell she was troubled about this task. However, she accepted it without any complaint.

After taking my measurements, Mei let us off the hook and buried herself in a tangle of thread and fabric. Her movements were so precise and fluid, much like a professional. It was almost scary to watch her work fiercely with shears and needles, so Rosario and I didn't try to bother her. As we headed to our rooms, she paused to clutch on her chest, her face contorting with severeagony. I tried to help her but as expected, she shoved me away, telling me that she didn't need any help. All I could do was watch until the pain episode eased, leaving the familiar out of breath, her face as white as sheet.

"Don't tell anyone," she rasped wearily, leaning on the wall.

"What?" I asked, bewildered.

"About this." She looked down on her chest and clasped a hand over it. "Don't tell Master Vladimir or anyone else. He thinks I'm healing well."