Silk

I could only think how foreign the feel of satin was against my skin as I secured the ribbons on the back of the bodice, and of how quickly my heart seemed to race as I gazed, with acute disbelief, at the folds of silk and lace that made up the gown. It was heartbreakingly beautiful, and I still didn't know why.

The petite girl stood before the window in her lounge, gazing at her reflection in the clear glass. I must remember to breathe, she thought, one dainty hand pressed against the crimson silk of the bodice. She recognized herself in a way she hadn't in years; the well-bred young lady that had once taken these rich fabrics for granted. The daughter of a Baron, the betrothed of another. Were those years spent in the slums a dream?, the words echoed somewhere in the back of her mind. One foot snuck from beneath the heavy silk, the stiff, white satin shoes glinting in the warm firelight. Cienwyn, dizzy with disbelief, forced herself to clear thoughts. That woman; Samhain, wasn't it? She gave them to him, along with some other things. Surely it's only because he has no use for them himself. I couldn't wear them in public, unless it were to a Ball. Small hands felt around to the nape of her neck, searching for the spill of her heavy, raven curls, soft and gleaming as always, A child in a woman's clothes; Rachelle wears these sorts of things, not me. Her hair felt strong, unbreakable; a reminder of who she was. What would Rachelle say- or Vigo for that matter? The girl knew even before she finished the thought. Her brother, she knew wryly, would tell her to be careful. Silently, Cienwyn cursed his absence. Over the sea, where the ships cannot penetrate during Darkfall. Rachelle... who knows?

The silk had again transported her to another, now-forbidden world. Is it odd that I feel like an intruder in a world I once thought was my own? I never knew my father, though; he could have been a king or a beggar. Perhaps I always was. 

But why? Cienwyn repeated again to herself, inexorably, What will a man do with satin dresses and purses and shoes?

With precarious resolve, Cienwyn repeated the statement to herself once, then twice, then three times, until she began to find it more likely than the alternative.