Seven Deadly Sons

Ameline. (8)

Red sky morning, Shepherds take warning.

When the sun rose, it took with it all the silence of the night and bathed the clearing in red for a few moments. Good thing I wasn't a traditionalist.

The grove was exactly the same as it was when I slept last night, the same lesser creatures as before frequenting the same spots — making sure the grass and liverwort seed was at its fullest potential. Id have to pick out the colourful flowers again before the prince arrived.

Id already made my way to the small pond with a natural rock stream flowing through it — it had become my halfway marker to the mule. It was also a neat spot for a warm bath and watercress snack. I checked the area one last time for anything out of place because it was the last time id be here before the prince arrived. A little thrill went through me at the thought, I had always loved tales of distant humans coming and luring young maidens away to riches and love and joyous nights. But they were humans in my imaginings — not Ælves.

So the thrill could only be one of bloodlust. An urge just as strong as what the Prince of it experienced himself. Perhaps he and I would get along.

The water in the stream had been beyond freezing and I couldn't stop sniffling now, my eyes kept fogging up too. It was likely a twenty-four-hour cold, but it was still annoying.

I dragged my outfit of choice out of the cart, the mule stomping his feet in eagerness to move from on from the muddy path. I pity him for a minute, covered in mud as he sleeps — and then I remember he is an animal. I do not care.

The outfit was a long eccentric ballgown, but not just any kind. As one of my proudest possessions, it had an actual hanger inside the cart to protect it.

Putting it on, I remembered why it was the only dress I'd never exchanged, taken the risk of being seen in it more than once.

When I put this dress on, someone important died.

The top and skirt were two separate items, meaning no zips were required if put on with proper care. It's top pinched my waist in so tightly without any boning; comprised of a single piece of fabric, the piece went from my shoulder down over my left breast, around my lower back and back up over the other breast to my right shoulder. When on, the effect was of skin and inky black water, mixed in a striped pattern that temptingly followed the curves of my body. The fabric ends both looks exactly like the whitewash of thrashing ocean waves in caricature, creating formidable shoulder pieces framing my face. Each highest tip of white reached the height of my ears and then dipped down my back to create a steep v-shape to match the same as the front, along with the bottom of the low-backs hidden clip to attach and secure the skirt for further waist-cinching.

Clipping the skirt on now, I admired the asymmetric peplum piece that curved out from my hip to create a wave-like shape down my left leg in soft tulle, the opposite side a similar striping style to the bodice — with organza styled like seaweed in curving intervals, showing the bare skin beneath in-between. My bare leg was visible almost all the way up to the top of my hipbone, so scandalous!

Due to the two sides of the skirt being made from different materials, a high slit was created here too, but only truly visible as I walked; the separate pieces of fabric trailing behind me like a clot of tentacles in varying lengths.

I loved this dress.

Showing off skin had been so foreign to me growing up on in the mortal realm, but here every aspect of a body was celebrated. All the clothes were tailored to flatter.

I ran my fingers over this dress now, admiring the different fabrics with new eyes. I scratched absently at the tiny gemstones stitched on the sea-foam, enjoyed the sheerness of the organza and the cleverness of the skin mess on my chest — perilously close to having my chest bounce right out of it, the neckline was so sharp. I like how the fabric on my legs looks similar to the curves of a rid-cage. The fabric was entirely in shades of black to white and felt appropriate, considering fashion on Earth was that one wore it to funerals. Supposedly my Queen had endured some trauma and gone into mourning, now only ever wearing black to commemorate.