When Ethan pulled down the ladder to the attic, Bren having just exited his room, questioned him. 

"It’s really none of your concern," Ethan placed the attic pole against the floor.

"Really?" Bren bared his teeth and blocked Ethan’s path upstairs. "Maybe I’ll tell mama that you’re not being very nice." 

"When are you going to grow up and act your age?"

Bren narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, "When I stop being amused. Look at you, your own father gave everything to his stepson and your stepmother controls your life. You are the epitome of pitiful and it’s hilarious. What will you do, Ethan? Be nice and humor me."

Ethan scowled, his misfortunes were laid bear in front of him like it were a game. The boy played his hardest when it was just the two of them, but Ethan smiled. Bren might threaten to tattle to his mother but he hardly ever did. He was just as afraid of her as Ethan was. 

Bren wasn’t as much of a crybaby as Vergil was, but he was easily scared, though he hid it well. Ethan knew him long enough to be able to pick up on the signs. And he knew when Bren was acting tough to seem unbothered by his mother. He’d once told her he was too old to be treated like a baby and she’d told him to stop acting like one. Vergil and Ethan had burst out in laughter earning them all a trip together to buy her necessities, with an order to start getting along. It didn’t work.

"Go ahead then, tell her. Oh, what was it that you’re going to say again? That you weren’t minding your own business?"

"I," Bren scrunched his nose up in annoyance. "Don’t think it’s because she cares about you, y’know, it’s only because mama hates conflict in her own house. Her house," he stepped away from the stairs. "I probably wouldn’t want to know what weird things you do up in the attic anyways, looting around in filthy junk."

"That filthy junk is my father’s things."

"Yeah, I know. And you're lucky mama loved him, or whatever, otherwise it’d have already been burned like the eyesore it is," he scurried off like a rodent. 

Ethan shook his head, he knew Bren liked to say whatever as an attempt to get under his skin. He climbed the stairs. When he put one foot on the floorboards he expected a plume of dust to invade his airways, but it did not. There was a lot less dust than he had expected; it was as though not that long ago someone had cleaned the whole place. That was doubtful, no one had the patience and Raymona, who would be the only one willing, had a breathing condition exasperated by dust. 

The only light was from a small window in the center of the ceiling which cast eerie shadows. 

Ethan was careful to search through only the boxes that he knew had his father’s clothes. Although it had been a few years since his passing, he was still not ready to see any other memorabilia left behind. Even thinking about them made him want to cry. Like his razor that he would watch him use every morning as a boy, following his movements and pretending he was shaving too. Or the cheap cuff links that Ethan had earned the money to buy from helping out the people in town. His father ended up wearing them every day until they broke. There was so much history in these boxes, if there was one thing Raymona was good for, it was that she understood that.

It wasn’t until he’d exhausted all the boxes of clothes with much frustration that he finally spotted the leather chest blended into the dark recesses of a corner. The rusty hinges creaked as he opened it. The suit lay folded neatly with a pair of his father’s finest shoes next to it. This was his father’s most expensive suit, the same one he had worn the day he married that vile woman. He pulled up the jacket carefully and slipped it on, it was, amazingly, just the tiniest bit too big, his father really was the biggest man in his life. He folded the jacket back up and laid it down on the rest of the suit, placed the shoes on top, and carried it out of the attic. 

Bren was waiting for him at the bottom. "I should have known you went looking for that musty old thing. Trying to impress the princess by being well dressed? I wonder how she’ll see you when she finds out you’re nothing more than our servant."

Ethan was in too much of a good mood to be bothered by him and ignored his ramblings as he pushed up the attic stairs. 

"I’d be careful about wearing that. You might get cursed to end up like him," Bren clicked his tongue and stormed away like he always did when he didn’t get his way. Who knows, maybe Ethan would get to hear him throw a tantrum in his room and get a good laugh in.

Ethan had become capable at sewing. Growing up he was prone to getting into fights with his smart mouth, especially with the older kids. To prevent his father from finding out, he learned to alter his own clothes, sewing up holes, tears or adding missing fabric. After his father died, Raymona had to cut costs and let their servants go, they saved money any way they could, which meant the job of altering everyone’s clothes landed on Ethan. He was the only one in this house that could do anything. Not really, he admitted. Vergil could sew a lot better, despite him often pretending to hate it. 

It all led up to this moment to get his dad’s suit to fit him in two days. It was a challenge, especially in between caring for the household, but Ethan had been challenged all his life. He felt that those challenges would finally have a purpose. He wasn’t sure why, but he felt that his life was finally going to change. 

The night of the ball he found the suit in pieces. 

"You are not wearing that hideous green monstrosity," he heard Raymona yell. The voice was heavy against his ears, his head swimming with confusion. The conversation didn’t process in his brain, he was at that moment like a statue. 

"You just don’t understand the complexity of art," Vergil’s voice carried on after hers, a hint of a whine hidden underneath his anger. 

"What art? What are on Earth on you talking about, boy."

"Me, I’m the canvas on which to express myself. How do you expect me to marry someone who I can’t show my trueself to."

"You," a deep breath. "That has nothing to do with that and everything to do with being a plague on my eyes. And it’s not even your size, it’s much too big. Get changed and wear the suit I picked out for you."

"Ha! I’ve since lost weight, it won't fit either way."

"Luckily, I got it tailored some time ago. I looked through your things and found a notebook you’d marked with your measurements."

"That’s! You’ve breached my personal space and broken my trust."

"Get. Changed. Now."

"You should just go and let him make a fool of himself." 

"Stay out of this, Bren," they spoke in unison.

After a few minutes Raymona called Ethan down, "The carriage is here, time to go." When Ethan didn’t respond she spoke more sternly, "Now."

He slumped out of his room like a sad puppy, head down. 

"Wha- Why are you not dressed?" Her expression was scandalized as she grasped at her lavish ball gown. The one dress she owned that wasn’t beige or black. "Hurry, hurry."

"I don’t have anything to wear." When he heard no response he looked up to find her mouth gaping wide. On the side of her, Bren had the biggest grin he’d ever seen on his face, he was too hurt to be angry.

  

"What do you mean you have nothing to wear? Why did you say nothing about this? We, we could have done something, borrowed from someone, foolish boy. I don’t know what to do now," she fanned herself. 

"I just won’t go is all. I’m not a big fan of balls anyways."

"Not a big fan? Is that what you expect me to say to the King and Queen? ‘Oh, he’s not a fan, is all’."

"I’m sure you can come up with something, you’re good at that. Plus, with me out the way, Vergil can go and court the princess as you wish."

She took in a deep breath, "They invited us because of you, you saved their…No never mind, we don’t have time for this. When I come back you’ll hear the rest of what I have to say." She turned around and banged the door open, "Let’s go boys."

Bren followed his mother out with a snicker which she whacked his mouth for. Vergil, on the other hand, quickly went to Ethan, in a whisper, "I have more than a feeling that Bren is involved in this. Look in my closet after we leave, there’s something you can wear. You deserve the princess’ hand more than I."

"Vergil," his mother shouted from the carriage.

"Hope to see you at the ball," he waved before jogging out the door.

Ethan ran to Vergil’s room and pulled open his closet only to slap his hands over his face. His life was only one misery into the next, it was almost like he was living out someone’s tragicomedy. The brothers were in on this together, forcing him into wearing whatever this was. He missed the mockery in Vergil’s words before, but he heard it in his head now, ‘You deserve the Princess’ hand more than I’ and ‘Hope to see you at the ball’. Oh, Ethan was a fool. A fool that was going to play right into their hands, what choice did he have?