Page 25 of A Sanctuary from Shadow
Yep, it’s as bad as I thought.
Now, Aunt Aylie and the store owner, Pavonia, beamed while I silently blasphemed at my reflection.
The “dress” was a negligee with a sweep train, hanging loose about my body, barely covering my breasts. Pearls were all that kept it from falling off my shoulders, their crisscrossing strings forming sleeves and embellishing my back in a scanty net. Its open back came to a deep V, the point of which met my tailbone and the dimples flanking my spine. I wished I could hug my arms around my back.
“You were right, Eulalia,” Pavonia praised my aunt, squeezing her wrist. She was a lean, elegant Danann with delicate features and long black hair fashioned into a rigid chignon. Her tight sheath dress revealed much less of her body than mine did. “This was the perfect shape for her.”
“It’s breathtaking,” Aunt Aylie said, a satisfied customer.
I gaped at her. “You can’t be serious. I can’t walk out of the house in this!”
“You’ll put it on when we get to the festival.” Aunt Aylie tapped her glossy mouth, then remarked to Pavonia, “I think it’ll need hemmed.”
Nodding, Pavonia knelt to examine said hem.
“And what kind of underwear am I supposed to wear beneath this? You can see everything!” The bands of both my bra and panties were glaringly on display.
“Don’t be silly.” Pavonia folded the dress at my toes. “Darling, you don’t wear anything beneath this dress.”
“I’m supposed to benaked?”
Aunt Aylie exhaled, swatting a tuft of my copper hair off my shoulder. “If you’re wearing a dress, you won’t be naked.”
“But—”
She quelled me with a look. “This is not up for discussion, Amaranthine. This is your Beltane dress. It’s a far more modest dress than any other youngblood will wear.”
Then I didn’t want to see the other girls’ dresses.
She set a hand on her wide-set hip. “You’re twenty years old now, niece—high time you relinquished these childish insecurities. Embrace your body as it is.”
This was an order, not an encouragement.
“You do look nice, Amy.” Vi bit her thumbnail, looking me up and down. “Even though—”
“Even though everyone will be able to seemyass?”
Aunt Aylie smacked me, right on the ass of note.
“Hold still, please,” Pavonia requested when I jumped.
“Ladies do not sayass,” Aunt Aylie hissed, baring sharp teeth.
Fuming, I rubbed the welt on my posterior.
My aunt’s snub nose twitched; she wagged her finger at me. “You’ll wear this dress. You’ll stop worrying about what everyone thinks of you. You’ll eat, drink, and be merry like a proper Danann youngblood on Beltane. Is that clear?”
“Yes,” I bit out, hands fisting.
Silent and glowering as my fitting progressed without my input, I saw my eyes in the mirror—blazing infernos.
“What’swrong,Amy?”Daddyasked, bundled beneath down-filled brocade and heavy knit wool, the slightest chill clinching his waning flesh. He contemplated me through dark hollows.
I sat in the padded rocking chair beside his bed, washed in dim lamplight. Novus snoozed soundly upon my feet, andTo Kill a Mockingbirdwas cracked open on my lap. Daddy thought reading aloud a lost art and often solicited my mellow tones for bedtime stories. That night, however, my voice barbed Harper Lee’s iconic words. Internalizing my dress fitting disaster had failed.
Exhaling, I glanced at my father. “Daddy, you should see the dress Aunt Aylie expects me to wear on Beltane.”
“It’s just a dress.” His words scratched like rough wool through chapped lips.
