The Lady Seraphina

We set off once more, a strange trio traversing the grand and empty causeways of that imposing city. The sheer scale of the architecture pressed in on me, and I could not shake the practical anxieties that gnawed at my mind. "But how?" I asked, my voice a low, worried murmur directed at our cheerful guide. "How are we to procure clothing with... nothing?"

Xiao Ru, who had been walking with a light and carefree step, merely glanced back at me with a reassuring smile. She began to whistle a soft, melodic tune, her entire being radiating an unshakable and, to my mind, entirely unfounded confidence.

She led us away from the grand, obsidian monolithes and into one of the quieter districts, where the pale, lilac-hued colonnades held sway. She stopped before a modest, open archway, veiled by a curtain of fine, shimmering threads. Above it hung a simple, elegant sign bearing a single, unfamiliar sigil.

We passed through the curtain into a space that was calm and scented with something like cedar and lavender. And at its center, attending to a mannequin draped in cloth the colour of dusky purple, stood a woman of such tranquil beauty that my breath caught in my throat. Her shoulder length light blonde hair was bound with a simple wreath of what appeared to be olive leaves, and she wore an elegant gown of a style I dimly recognized from ancient Greek statuary—a white chiton that fell in graceful folds from her shoulders. A thin circlet of pale gold floated, in defiance of all reason, just behind her head off to the side.

She looked up at our entrance, a small, knowing smile played upon her lips, and her eyes, large and serene, seemed to hold within them a deep peace. To find such a being—a creature that seemed to radiate a celestial calm—presiding over a simple shop in the heart of the Makai was yet another contradiction, another stroke of Lyssa in a world seemingly composed of nothing else. At the time, I could not readily discern if it was a shop, but perhaps the traditional origins of such a word are lost in translation.

Xiao Ru beamed, making a small, respectful bow of her head. "This," she said in a tone of hushed reverence, "is the Lady Seraphina. She is the finest seamstress in all the capital—an angel, the stories say, who fell from the celestial sphere some millennia ago."

I remained frozen, still awestruck by the creature’s radiant beauty. She moved then, a silent, gliding motion that brought her directly before me. She raised a hand, and with the tip of a single, impossibly delicate finger, she tilted my chin upwards, forcing my gaze to meet her own serene green eyes. A great and sudden dryness seized my throat, and I swallowed with a painful gulp.

After a long, silent moment of appraisal, she turned from me without a word and sauntered toward her worktable, taking up a length of silk the colour of a cloudy sky. She did not cut or sew, but rather held the fabric aloft. Her fingers began to move in the air before it, a motion of soundless grace. At times it was as though she were a conductor, commanding the threads to rise and fall, and at others, as if she were plucking the unseen strings of some ethereal harp. Before my very eyes, the fabric began to fold and knit itself together, until, in a moment that could not have been more than a few heartbeats, it had resolved itself into a handsome silk blouse, with cuffs of an intricate, flower-like lace that flared out in a dramatic fashion.

She held the finished garment out to me. "It will be suited to your measurements," she stated, her voice as calm and soft as the silk itself.

The only response my overwhelmed mind could form was a single, strangled whisper: "What?"

My mouth hung agape, the single, incredulous word "What?" still hovering in the air. The speed and impossibility of the garment's creation, fashioned from thin air by the mere dance of her fingers, was a magic far beyond anything I had ever witnessed. I instinctively recoiled from the proffered blouse, my mind grasping for the one solid truth I still possessed.

"I... I have no money," I stammered, the words a desperate plea, an attempt to anchor myself in the familiar rules of my old world.

Seraphina's serene face registered a flicker of something akin to Xiao Ru's earlier bewilderment. She tilted her head, her calm gaze searching my face. "Money?" she murmured, the word tasting odd on her tongue. Her eyes seemed to pierce through my very being. A slow smile, not unkind, spread across her lips. "Ah," she said, her voice soft and knowing. "You are not from the Makai. Or at least, not from the capital."

Beside me, Xiao Ru nodded vigorously, her expression one of delighted affirmation. "Mmm! Mmm! She is very far from home!"

Without another word, Seraphina reached out. Her two fingers, cool and delicate, came to rest lightly upon my forehead. There was no pain, no pressure, only a strange, fleeting sensation of warmth, like a wisp of smoke passing through my mind. A flash of memory, so quick I could not grasp its content, seemed to lift from me, leaving behind a faint, almost imperceptible echo.

She withdrew her hand and held the blouse out to me once more.

"W-what was that?" I asked, bewildered.

"She has taken a memory from your mind in exchange," Xiao Ru explained cheerfully, as if describing the most mundane of transactions. "Such is the way of the Makai for unique goods!"

Seraphina offered another small smile. "I shall return in a moment with the other required fabrics for your… unique ensemble," she said, her gaze sweeping over my current attire with a quiet, polite disapproval. With a rustle of her chiton, she glided gracefully toward a back room, leaving me standing in the boutique, completely confused, holding the magical blouse in my hands.

I was overcome by a sudden paroxysm of terror at the thought of such a violation, a chill so visceral it seemed to turn my very blood to frost. I turned to Xiao Ru, my hands taking a frantic grip of her shoulders, my composure shattered.

"What memory?" I demanded, my voice a harsh whisper. "What did she take from me? Is it gone? Shall I never have it back?"

The fox winced at my outburst, gently but firmly taking hold of my wrists to still their shaking. "It is not gone," she said in a soothing tone. "Your memory was not taken, only… read. Copied, as one might copy the light for an image." She offered a small, reassuring smile. "As to which one… when a memory is given in trade, it is customary for it to flash within one's own mind, so that the giver should not be ignorant of the conditions of the compact."

What she intended as a solace for my sorrows proved instead to be but salt cast upon a fresh and weeping wound. I fell silent, my hands dropping to my sides. I had felt a flicker, a wisp of something, but I could not name it. I had given a piece of my past, of my very self, and I did not even know what it was.

The Lady Seraphina then returned from some darkened antechamber of her establishment, and a strange sight she presented. She carried nothing, for the materials she had sought—great lengths of damask and brocade—instead followed her, gliding through the air in a perfect and quiescent train, like the very spirits of her craft made manifest.

I opened my mouth to protest, to demand to know what piece of my life had been bartered away, but the question died on my lips. The Lady Seraphina had already raised her hands, and the floating swaths of fabric began to move.

A length of—what appeared or seemed similar to—dark leather, the colour of a darkest night, folded in upon itself with a celerity that bewildered the senses until it resolved into a jacket of exquisite cut, finished with a high and severe collar.

Following this, another portion of the same dark substance began to writhe and smooth itself, resolving through a series of sinuous twists into a pair of finely-made gloves.

A third portion of the dark fabric, smaller than the last, began to pleat itself with a crisp, geometric certainty, resolving into a skirt, plainly cut for ease of movement, that answered the jacket in both its colour and design.

Finally, a ribbon of deep violet silk tied itself into a simple, yet elegant, necktie, a single point of contrasting colour.

The entire process took but a handful of seconds. The finished garments floated gently in the air before me, a complete and perfect ensemble, at once elegant, severe, and strangely suited to the person I had once been. It was the attire of a scholar, or an investigator—a uniform for a life I was no longer certain I possessed. Seraphina simply gestured toward them, proffering the strange and beautiful clothes in absolute silence.

Then, with a silent, graceful indication, the angel directed my attention to a threefold screen of dark, lacquered wood. I moved toward it in a waking reverie, taking the floating garments from the air before stepping behind its silent partition to make my change.

To shed the worn and familiar attire of my past life was a strange and sorrowful thing, but to don the new garments was stranger still. The silk of the blouse was cool against my skin, and the light, midnight-coloured jacket settled upon my shoulders with a comforting… yet authoritative weight. An unusual and sudden vigor flowed through me, a sense of purpose returning to my weary limbs.

When I emerged from behind the screen, my own reflection confronted me in a tall, silver-framed looking-glass. The woman who looked back at me was a paradox; she wore my own pale and haunted face, yet her attire was that of another being entirely. It was a severe and striking image, a mien in this dark world, an effect made all the more potent by the great, ornate silver buttons, wrought to resemble coiled serpents, that fastened the raiment.

My brief moment of satisfaction, however, was immediately shattered as my gaze fell to my feet. There, peeking out from beneath the crisp hem of my short new skirt, were the scuffed and utilitarian athletic shoes of my former life. They clashed so violently with the rest of the ensemble that the sight was almost physically painful.

As I emerged from behind the screen, my movements still those of a woman lost in a trance, her lips were graced with a faint smile that betrayed a certain prescience, as if she had fully anticipated my bewildered state. She had noticed. Without a word, she plucked two final scraps of material from the air. One, a piece of soft, white something or another, bunched and folded upon itself to form a pair of thick, slouching socks. The other, a swatch deepened to the colour of damson as the soft fabric grew firm, shaping itself into a pair of elegant, low-heeled shoes. As a final touch, a large oversized buckle of gleaming silver, wrought in the same serpentine design as the buttons on my jacket, materialized upon each shoes before they settled gently upon the floor before me.

A sharp, delighted gasp came from Xiao Ru, and her tail gave a single, enthusiastic wag of approval. Even Ashley offered a low, appreciative hum. "The attire," she conceded, "is a considerable improvement." A hot flush, born of a strange mixture of embarrassment and a flicker of my old pride, rose to my cheeks.