Syraa was walking in a field of flowers. The sun was bright and warm, her markings shimmering in the sunlight. A gentle breeze tugged at her hair, carrying the scent of fresh water from the stream. She laughed.

Then she felt a touch on her waist. Gentle, yet firm and grounding. Fingers brushed her skin, feather-light, teasing warmth into her spine. She reached for the other hand: dark skin, markings of molten amethyst running beneath. The same color glowed faintly in the eyes looking at her with that familiar softness as he pulled her into a gentle hug.

Varek.

Their eyes met under the shadow of a passing cloud. Her fingers trailed up on his arm. He asked her something—words lost to the wind—but she smiled and said yes.

Then came another touch. Softer. Unreal and far too real at once.

“Syraa!” Her mother’s voice came from somewhere unseen, filtering in as if from the spirit world.

She moaned.

“Wake up, my love,” her voice called again.

Syraa’s eyes fluttered open. She was sprawled on her stomach, most of her blanket fallen to the floor. Golden sunlight spilled through the thin curtains, painting the room in warmth. Her mother sat beside her, patting her back.

“Mum?” she mumbled, drowsy from sleep, rubbing dreams out of her eyes.

“Well, good morning, sweetheart,” her mother responded softly, “come on now, the sun’s high and bright. Time for breakfast, before we head out.”

Syraa rolled to her back and pushed herself onto her elbows. Her hair spilled over her shoulders in messy waves.

“Out where?” she asked, voice still groggy.

“Ah, to Darleena, sweetie! We talked about it, remember?” Elaina’s hands brushed Syraa’s cheeks. Syraa groaned, flopping back dramatically and yanking a corner of her blanket over her face.

Elaina laughed quietly. “Come on, my love. Get dressed. Breakfast is waiting.”

She lingered for a moment, watching Syraa pull the blanket tighter and groan like a stubborn child. The sight warmed her heart, even as it tugged at something older, quieter.

Her father’s daughter, without a doubt, Elaina thought, smiling despite the ache, as she marched back into the kitchen.

Syraa trotted down the stairs with the energy of a bull but the intention of a snail: each step a small protest that clattered through the house. Her eyes rolled before she even reached the bottom.

She dropped into a chair and pulled her mug close, breathing in the mellow, balmy scent of the tea. Elaina never made it strong, but it was always silky, smooth, soothing — like she brewed calm into every cup.

A thick slice of fresh bread landed in front of her, steam rising off the crust. Elaina set out a tray of homemade jams and honey, sunlight glinting off the jars.

“Or do you prefer cheese?” Elaina asked, noting the frown starting to form on Syraa’s face.

“No… I prefer not to go…” Syraa muttered, dragging a spoonful of jam across her bread like it had personally offended her.

Elaina sighed, the kind that began as exasperation and softened into laughter halfway through. “Please, Syraa. It’ll be great, you’ll see.”

Syraa grumbled something into her mug — mostly vowels — and took a large gulp of tea that was far too hot to drink.

Elaina raised an eyebrow. “You keep that up, you’ll burn your tongue before Darleena can even measure you.”

Syraa groaned. “That’d be fine. Then I wouldn’t have to talk to her.”

Syraa walked just half a step behind Elaina, groaning already as the shop came into view.

“Don’t be so grouchy, Syraa. Put on your polite face, please,” Elaina pleaded as she pushed the door open.

The shop was warm and fragrant with lavender and perfume. Rolls of fabric piled against the walls in every color and pattern imaginable, and spools of ribbon shimmered in the sunlight.

“Oh, to the gods, you are here, finally!” Darleena sang, stepping from behind her desk. Needles and scissors jingled from her apron, her fingers dusted with marking chalk.

“Look at you both! Elaina, my darling, you’re glowing, what’s your secret?”

Syraa bit back an eyeroll, half-listening as the women chatted. Her gaze drifted across the fabrics, lingering on a half-finished dress on a dummy.

“Yours will be so much prettier, my dear!” Darleena purred, catching her stare. Syraa hummed. Not convinced, but perhaps some of the fabrics were not horrible after all.

“Come on, my darling girl, kick off those shoes and step right up,” Darleena coaxed, tugging Syraa toward a stool. She perched reluctantly, staring at her reflection in the mirror. Darleena flitted around her, measuring, humming, and chattering in a stream of excitement that Syraa only half-registered.

When the tape tightened around her waist, Syraa flinched.

“Beauty needs compromises, my darling,” Darleena said with a wink.

“Life needs air,” Syraa muttered. Elaina stifled a laugh, but Darleena allowed herself a chuckle.

Darleena’s eyes lit up as she scribbled notes.

 “You seem taller than last time! And toned! Look at those arms!”

Syraa’s cheeks warmed. Maybe she did look more toned. She tried to swallow a smile and quickly dropped her gaze, catching her mother’s eyes in the mirror, narrowing with a certain suspicion.

“Listen,” Darleena went on, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “I was thinking elegant and flowy. Nothing bulky, nothing structured. Perhaps… a touch of lace?”

“I don’t like lace,” Syraa mumbled, “makes me look too soft.”

“A little softness is fine,” Elaina said. “Boys would like that, right?”

Syraa’s eyeroll finally broke free. “I am not trying to please, mother. If anything, the dress should please me, not… boys.”

Darleena clapped her hands and produced a piece of soft, shimmering fabric in deep, midnight blue.

“Look at this! It will bring out your eyes and make your golden markings shine!”

Syraa hesitated, then shrugged. Fine… maybe it’s not terrible.

“I’m seeing a plunging back,” Darleena chirped, draping a small swath of fabric over Syraa’s shoulders and letting it ripple down, “flowing from the shoulders, pooling around the hips…”

“Gods, Darleena…” Syraa muttered, blinking at the reflection. “I’m not trying to auction myself. Can we… have some coverage?”

The tailor muttered something about daring to show off curves, but Elaina interjected with a soft, protective note. Darleena relented with a grin, folding the fabric into a graceful drape over the chest, leaving just a hint of elegance at the back, flowing skirt, and lightly draped shoulder piece.

Syraa exhaled loudly, defeated, yet her fingers lingered on the silk. Deep down, she had to admit: she liked it.