OOM: The Dress
Apr. 1st, 2014 03:44 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sunbaked_bakerThe Bar gave her the dress Dr. Lecter had commissioned - commissioned for her - in a garment bag to keep it from dirt or damage as she took it upstairs, so it's only once she's alone in her room that Sunshine sees what has been made for her. And it's probably a good thing, because for a minute or so she can only stare.
It's beautiful.
The top of the dress is palest lavender - almost silver-white - covered in delicate, shining semi-circles of tiny beads, like layered scales covering the smooth fabric. But it's the many colors of the skirt flaring below that make Sunshine smile. From the high band of red-orange fabric come fantastically beaded points of red and gold and violet and orange, warm colors shining in glimmering beadwork scales that flare just above her knee into a skirt like a vivid watercolor sunset, all red-gold warmth shot through with deep purple. It's hard for her to comprehend something so beautiful is hers.
But she can't stand and stare at it forever, she tells herself, however much she'd like to. She must get ready.
The image of the dress lingers in her mind as she showers under the hot water, and afterwards, toweling her hair dry in the lily of the valley-scented steam. It's only after Rae has dried and brushed her hair - she has the feeling that she should wear her hair up when wearing such a dress, but has no skills in doing anything fancier than a ponytail, braid, or bun, so she leaves her hair down, to tumble about her shoulders in loose waves - that she approaches the dress again, and dares to touch it.
The fabric under her hand is cool and soft, smooth to the touch.
When Rae at last tries it on, it fits her like a glove, a glove of fine fabric and masterful beadwork. Except for all the scars - the dress leaves the majority of them on display, she notes with an odd feeling in her stomach - Rae would hardly recognize herself. Hardly recognize the baker who sells cinnamon rolls for a living. She might as well be looking at a stranger in her mirror. A stranger with her face, her scars, and her amber sun-ring upon its silk cord about their neck.
The shoes are almost an afterthought, after everything else, pale silver-white to match the bodice of the dress, with a silver strap curving smoothly across the top of her foot from outer ankle to alongside her big toe. But they somehow make it feel real. That this is her, still just her, just in different trappings.
Taking a breath and another glance at the mirror, Rae gathers her nerve, and steps out of her room.
It's beautiful.
The top of the dress is palest lavender - almost silver-white - covered in delicate, shining semi-circles of tiny beads, like layered scales covering the smooth fabric. But it's the many colors of the skirt flaring below that make Sunshine smile. From the high band of red-orange fabric come fantastically beaded points of red and gold and violet and orange, warm colors shining in glimmering beadwork scales that flare just above her knee into a skirt like a vivid watercolor sunset, all red-gold warmth shot through with deep purple. It's hard for her to comprehend something so beautiful is hers.
But she can't stand and stare at it forever, she tells herself, however much she'd like to. She must get ready.
The image of the dress lingers in her mind as she showers under the hot water, and afterwards, toweling her hair dry in the lily of the valley-scented steam. It's only after Rae has dried and brushed her hair - she has the feeling that she should wear her hair up when wearing such a dress, but has no skills in doing anything fancier than a ponytail, braid, or bun, so she leaves her hair down, to tumble about her shoulders in loose waves - that she approaches the dress again, and dares to touch it.
The fabric under her hand is cool and soft, smooth to the touch.
When Rae at last tries it on, it fits her like a glove, a glove of fine fabric and masterful beadwork. Except for all the scars - the dress leaves the majority of them on display, she notes with an odd feeling in her stomach - Rae would hardly recognize herself. Hardly recognize the baker who sells cinnamon rolls for a living. She might as well be looking at a stranger in her mirror. A stranger with her face, her scars, and her amber sun-ring upon its silk cord about their neck.
The shoes are almost an afterthought, after everything else, pale silver-white to match the bodice of the dress, with a silver strap curving smoothly across the top of her foot from outer ankle to alongside her big toe. But they somehow make it feel real. That this is her, still just her, just in different trappings.
Taking a breath and another glance at the mirror, Rae gathers her nerve, and steps out of her room.
