Sanctuary

Chapter Five - Senna

"I look ridiculous," Senna muttered as she tugged at the edge of her white vinyl dress.

"You look quite fashionable." Nami fixed a twist in the strap of Senna's face mask, the first micromanagement of her inspection.

"I don't like this 'fashion'. My hair is done up too tight and this thing doesn't feel right. It's like it isn't even clothes. And it squeaks." Senna pulled away from her mother's fussing, her hand rising to fidget with her hair. Nami swatted Senna's hand down before it ever managed to touch the strands.

"Do not touch your hair. The stylists did not spend an hour braiding your hair up into that bun to have you pull it out before making it to the ballroom."

"It's uncomfortable."

"Give it time, you'll get used to it."

Senna rolled her eyes back over to the full-length mirrors of the dressing room. Her reflection frowned back at her from three different angles, though she hardly recognized herself. When the tailor glanced at her for the first time he muttered something about her being 'darker than he thought' and sent back all of the accessories he originally had laid out for her. She had watched his assistants trade elbow length gloves for shoulder length ones and regular boots out for one that went up to her knee. It was like they were trying to cover as much of her skin as possible, which left a sour taste in her mouth.

Nami pulled up at the neckline of Senna's dress, which was barely low enough to show her collarbones, and tugged at the hemline of the bell-shaped skirt.

"Aren't you uncomfortable?" Senna asked, looking over her mother's outfit.

Nami's outfit was a lot prettier to Senna, though she was sure she wouldn't look as good in as her mother did. The silvery white top hugged her mother's delicate curves with a scooping sweetheart neckline and a skirt that cut away to reveal stacks of gauzy chiffon. The layers billowed out like morning glories, shimmering with silver threads that wove through the fabric. Instead of a face mask she had a sheer veil that covered her face, made in the same fabric as the skirts. Delicate silver chains swept across the top of the veil, across her forehead, and up into the lifted brown curls of her hair. It looked like she was already dressed to be married. All she needed was a bouquet—did they use bouquets in Central weddings?

"Of course not. I was raised in clothes like this." Nami gave Senna a smile, the deep red of her lipstick a visible shadow under her delicate veil. "That necklace is pretty."

Senna's hand went up to the glass pendant out of reflex. She had been allowed to keep it on without argument and Senna could see why. The necklace looked more at home in Central than Senna did, its light glimmering off of the shine of dress. It resembled the city itself, the cording darting in and out of the pendant like walkways through the glimmering glass buildings.

"Thanks. Wrench gave it to me before I left." Senna struggled for a smile.

"Wrench did?" Nami's face scrunched up, as if something about that didn't quite add up. "Were you wearing it before?"

"I was wearing it under my shirt, like she used to."

"Hm." Nami's lips pressed together, clearly trying to puzzle something out, but she gave up shortly and sighed. "Well, take good care of it. Pieces like that are not easy to come by."

"There are my girls!" Zed's laugh of a voice startled both women, causing Nami to spin around in a couture whirlwind of glistening skirts. "My, aren't you both stunning." His eyes lingered on Nami, glittering with admiration. Senna's shoulders relaxed as she studied his face. If he looked at her mother like that, like her father used to, maybe she could be okay with everything. Maybe he could help her mother laugh again. If that were the case, she'd stomach the plastic clothes at the smell of sanitizer. She'd even ignore the way the tailor had scrunched his nose up at the color of her skin, so long as her mother was happy. "Are you excited about your first ball, Senna?"