May, 10th, 1007

Robin sat alone in her personal room, facing the vanity mirror with a content smile on her face. Small glass bottles and narrow trays encircled its surface—powders, brushes, and pencils laid out, all at arms length. 

She leaned closer to the mirror as she finished her eyeshadow, layering it carefully and blending the edges until no harsh line remained. A thin brush followed, drawing her pitch black eyeliner into a precise shape that framed her eyes until she was irresistible. She paused often, tilting her head, checking symmetry before allowing herself to move forward.

She went for a yellow color palette today, the same shade as the kimono she had chosen to wear. The fabric fell smoothly over her shoulders, loose at the back, its sleeves hanging off her forearms. 

Around her waist, she had wrapped a peach-pink obi—she wanted to exude that kind of cheerful energy to anyone lucky enough to be graced by her presence today. Just above her left ear, she pinned a floral kanzashi of the same peach color, its petals a delicate pale.

But her hair took the most time off her routine. She brushed it thoroughly before gathering it up and twisting it into a tight, structured bun. Pins disappeared into the dark strands, hidden but securing it in place. 

She smoothed the sides with her palms, then applied spray in the unruly areas, pressing stray hairs into place so they couldn’t randomly escape and god forbid, make her look anything but immaculate. 

Once finished, she checked herself in the mirror from every angle, adjusting a pin here, a fold there—until everything was perfect.

She looked perfect. 

In New Baymort, especially, she truly stood out. The fashion here was unlike anything she had ever seen in Akashima. 

It was hideous, really. At least in her humble but very correct opinion. 

Thankfully, Trizstan found her a designer even in this backwards country who could cater to her fashion sense with the exact kind of fabrics Robin liked to wear. 

The only downside? The stylist lived all the way in Solencia. Well, across the entire country. But that was to be expected. Most foreign goods came to New Baymort through Solencia’s harbor anyways. If she wanted quality, she had to work with the best this nation had to offer.

As she rose from her chair, she hissed, reminded of the ‘act’ she performed yesterday. When she woke up, she felt a small discomfort in her lower back, but now it was more like she had been run over by a train.

Was she slouching by the mirror without realizing it? Was the chair just that uncomfortable? Or was it her age catching up to her?

God forbid, she was already twenty-six.  A well old hag by most standards.

She stretched her back from side to side, rubbing at the sore spot with her hand. Now, only one last decision stood between her and the rest of her day.

Sandals.

A peachy pair would have been perfect with her color palette, but the only ones she owned were on a high‑heeled platform. Her back was already creeping up into her neck just thinking about walking in those all day.

No. Just this once, she would choose comfort.

She slipped into her beige flat sandals instead. The color didn’t quite work with the yellow tones, but maybe it wasn’t that noticeable.

Wasn’t it?

No—it was extremely noticeable. A glaring violation of her established aesthetic.

But rationally, she knew she would be dealing with children all day, with their messy antics… And with her back already sore before the day had even started, this could turn messy fast…

No. That didn’t matter. Style over comfort. She slid into the pink heeled sandals after all, making a mental note to ask her designer for a flat peach pair to add to her upcoming summer collection.

Not like she was paying for any of it anyways.

Now, standing tall, she finally left her room and entered her workplace—Trizstan Attila’s Spiriter Home orphanage.