When they returned home, Katherine quietly cleared out a section of her wardrobe and a few drawers so Elizabeth could place her things. She didn’t own much herself, but what she did have was refined, elegant, expensive, and meticulously arranged.

Elizabeth handled each item of clothing Katherine had given her with care, hanging them one by one in the newly emptied space.

“Alright,” Katherine said, reaching into one last bag. “I think this is the final one…”

She pulled out a black dress.

Both of them froze.

It was the dress. The one Elizabeth had tried on in the shop. A faint, warm color rose to Elizabeth’s cheeks as she stammered, “Oh- Y-you bought that too? But… why?”

Katherine hesitated before answering, she was somewhat shy. “Because… it’s a good dress. And it suited you.”

Elizabeth’s voice trembled. “I- I thought you didn’t like it.” She could barely meet Katherine’s gaze. “You looked uncomfortable when I wore it. I thought maybe you saw it as… inappropriate.”

Katherine tilted her head slightly, surprise flickering in her eyes. “Why would you think that?”

Elizabeth clasped her hands together. “Because… it’s the kind of dress those women wear-”

“What kind of women?”

The shift in Katherine’s expression was sudden. The softness vanished, replaced by a sharper, colder edge. Her voice, too, took on that same firmness. It wasn’t anger, not quite, but something that made Elizabeth falter.

Faced with that tone, the words caught in Elizabeth’s throat, but not enough to stop her from speaking.

“Immoral women,” Elizabeth said firmly. “Women who dress to attract a man’s attention, to lure his heart and take his money-”

She stopped when she saw Katherine’s expression. Surprise was mingled with confusion. And in that instant, Elizabeth realized those words weren’t hers at all. They were echoes, old, heavy beliefs she’d absorbed without question. Words that belonged to the world she had been born into, not to her.

“So,” Katherine said after a pause, her tone careful, “if a woman wears this dress, she’s immoral?”

She tried to keep her voice gentle, though something in her eyes flickered. It was not judgment, but restrained anger at the idea itself. The fact that this woman, who had previously hesitated to express herself, now spoke as if they were pouring out of a glass, gave the impression that these ideas belonged to someone else, not to her. They had been drilled into her like lessons recited by heart.

Elizabeth’s lips parted, but no words came. Her throat felt tight, knotted. She wanted to take back everything she’d said, to scream that those beliefs weren’t hers. But she couldn’t. Her family’s teachings clung to her like a shadow, suffocating and relentless.

Katherine rose from the floor and lifted the black dress against herself. “Then, in the eyes of those people,” she said with a small, sharp smile, “I must be very immoral. Because I happen to like this dress very much.”

She stepped closer and held the dress out toward Elizabeth. “When I first saw you in it, all I could think was how good it looked on you. Maybe,” her voice softened, “the problem isn’t the dress… but the eyes that choose to see it that way. Don’t you think?”

Elizabeth said nothing. But the silence itself was an answer, one Katherine understood. She was relieved to see that glimmer of realization in Elizabeth’s eyes, that faint crack in the wall of shame built around her.

Katherine gave a light smirk, breaking the tension. “I’m starving. Why don’t we eat something? We’re done here anyway.”

“Yes…” Elizabeth lifted her head, her voice small but steady. “Yes.”

The black dress was carefully placed in the wardrobe, its soft fabric brushing against the other clothes. A quiet, wordless promise of change before they left the room together.

Although Elizabeth had offered to help with dinner, it was Katherine who ended up doing most of the assisting, mostly with the chopping.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, moved with the precision of a professional. The focus in her expression, the way she measured each ingredient, the slow, deliberate circles she traced with the spoon... Even the careful pinch of salt, it all spoke of quiet perfectionism, as though one grain too much might ruin everything.

“You look like you’re cooking for a gourmet critic,” Katherine said lightly, glancing sideways at her while slicing the peppers.

Elizabeth froze for a moment, her serious face melting into confusion. “I’m sorry.”

Katherine chuckled softly. “Why are you apologizing? I meant it as a compliment. You look really cool doing that.”

“Ah…” Elizabeth blinked, her cheeks warming. It was probably the first time anyone had ever said something like that to her. “T- Thank you.”

“Do you enjoy cooking?”

“Not… really.”

She was surprised now, “Why not?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it,” Elizabeth said, her voice quiet and thoughtful. “I just think the only part I truly enjoy is the preparation.”

Katherine tilted her head, curious. “Only the preparation?”

Elizabeth gave a faint, sad smile but said nothing more. There was something in her expression that made Katherine decide not to press further.

Katherine then shifted the topic. “How am I supposed to chop this onion?”

Elizabeth leaned over the counter. “You have to peel it first. If you cut the root like this-”

“Like this?”

“Yes, exactly. Then peel the outer layers. If you hold it here…”

Without realizing it, Elizabeth placed her hands gently over Katherine’s, guiding her movements. The faint scent of her shampoo drifted between them, clean, soft, almost sweet. Katherine noticed how small Elizabeth’s hands were compared to hers.

“See? It’s easy,” Elizabeth said, looking up. Their eyes met.

For a long second, neither of them moved. The world seemed to still, the quiet hum of the kitchen, the warmth from the stove, the faint heartbeat in their chests.

“I see,” Katherine said finally, her voice lower, steadier, but her gaze didn’t waver.

Elizabeth stepped back quickly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Great,” she murmured, her cheeks still faintly pink.