Just like everything else in the Armentis faith, their weddings were moon- and sun-themed. All female guests would wear colors ranging from shades of red and pink to yellow and orange. While all male guests would be dressed in shades of blue with a hint of purple, as well as black and white. The same rules applied for the groom and bride, with one key difference. The guest would pick one color and stick with it, while the couple to be wed would use all their respective colors.
And right now I was standing in Madam Marigold's atelier, hemmed in by a half-circle of full-sized mirrors. Their cold reflections caught every angle, and no matter how I turned, I saw nothing but my own awkward uncertainty multiplied. Rosalia Marigold, the well-endowed owner, zealously forced me to try different wedding dress designs one by one; her staff fluttered around, tucking fabric and pinching stitches so close I could barely breathe. The silk clung uncomfortably to my skin, prickling with every adjustment, like it was as uncertain about me as I was about it. For several hours, they brought in dress after dress, layers of color and shine swirling around me, but Rosalia was never satisfied.
“No…No!”
*Jiggle*
“Eugh, definitely not that one.”
*Jiggle*
In my humble opinion, they all were gorgeous. Just pick one, please, I begged silently. Still, beneath my exasperation, a heavier wish gnawed at me. I wanted to feel radiant, not lost in someone else's idea of beauty, hoping that maybe the right dress would help me believe I belonged in this ceremony, that I wasn't just playacting at happiness. But every time I tried to choose, Rosalia would just shut me down.
“How about this one? I really like it.”
“Don't lie to me. I know you don't care, but I simply couldn't let you be seen with one of my dresses that doesn't fit you to the T.”
“Would it fit me anyway at the rate my belly is growing?”
“I'm not talking about size, sweetheart, I'm talking about style. We will just adjust your dress a day or two before the wedding.”
When I looked around, I saw what her staff might have to say about that, but the five human women just showed me their signature customer service smile. So they were also of no help in persuading their crazy boss.
Sigh,
But I had to give it to her; she was right, none of the dresses really spoke to me. Whatever that meant.
“Don't be like that, Ruby. You are doing great.”
And while I stood and suffered through the whole ordeal, Rika was leisurely sitting at a table not too far from us, watching the whole theater while busily eating cake and fresh biscuits.
I tried my best to suppress my murderous thoughts until one of the staff members replaced one of the plates Rika had just emptied with a fresh new cake.
“Where is all that even coming from?”
I almost scream in indignation. I didn't really expect an answer, but the same staff member who had brought the new plate of cake explained,
“Oh, this is from a local bakery just around the corner, see.”
And sure enough, outside the window, I could see the bakery of Averal's girlfriend, Julia's parents. A faint, sweet aroma of warm pastries drifted in whenever the shop door opened, mingling with a sharp breeze that carried distant wagon wheels and the restless calls of traders passing by. The low rumble of guard patrols on the cobbles and the clang of the blacksmith on the next street over filtered through the glass, all tucked together in Roots’ wind-swept border streets. Roots itself felt different from other towns, shaped by years of enduring life on the edge of the kingdom. Its people moved with a kind of watchfulness that I have never seen anywhere else. I couldn't forget, even for a moment, that this wedding dress fitting was unfolding right on the edge of a frontier town.
*growl*
“It seems we are due for a break.”
Admittedly, Rosalied sighed and put her sketchbook away before walking into the back of the shop, lost in thought.
Finally, I wasnt even mad she had heard my stomach growling. If I had known this was enough, I would have faked one ages ago. Eagerly, I sat down right next to Rika, who was gobbling down a familiar piece of chiffon cake, and took my own favorite slightly sour apple pie with a big heap of whipped cream. There was something honest about that sharp tang beneath the sweet topping, something that always reminded me of childhood afternoons spent dodging chores in the garden, biting into the currants and apples I sheepishly piked.
Ahhhh, this was what I had been craving. With every bite, I forgot a bit of the last grueling hours, and soon I was in a good mood again. For a moment, it felt like nothing could bother me. Yet, as the sugary comfort rolled over my tongue, a question lingered, sharper than the tart apple beneath my whipped cream. There was something about this place that didn’t add up. All these pastries, silks, the endless dresses, how did Rosalia afford all this? The thought refused to leave, hovering just out of reach, waiting for the right moment to demand an answer.
“Rika, how can Rosalia afford all that?”
Rika looked at me, her mouth still full of cake, and asked back,
“Whad doo you meam? Theh cake?”
“No, not the cake… well, not just that, but I mean all of this. Roots is a fortress town right on the border with no trade running through it and under constant threat of war. How could Rosalia ever hope to break even in a place like this? The odd noble ladies who accompany their families can't be enough to pay for all these dresses. I mean, why here and not in the capital, for example?”
Rika rolled her eyes and stabbed the final piece of cake on her plate with her fork. She then finally swallowed that piece of cake and poured it down with some warm, rich tea.
“Well, she already does.”
“Huh?”
“Rosalia has many stores all over the country, and there is even one in the northern countries. She just… “chooses” to be here, that's all.”
Rika looked to her right and then to her left, as if searching for something, then leaned in closer to my ear and whispered her real answer.
“Gnomes arent legally allowed to own businesses. Especially not female gnomes like her. The madam Magnolia everyone thinks is her is actually Rosalia’s stand-in. But most of the designs are from the real Rosalia.”
I had heard about the racism against other human races on the continent from Otto, but I didn’t know it was this bad. But when I further thought about it, it didn’t seem that unbelievable coming from a country that has forced almost the entire Halfling population into a small half-island. I could only soothe myself with the knowledge that no one here in Roots and Rosedorn seemed to care what race you were... well, except if you were ibasan, I guess...
“So she is hiding here?”
I exclaim in shock. In comparison, the rest of the staff showed regretful, almost sorrowful faces.
“Yes, she is, but it's almost an open secret in noble circles, yet all of them still pretend that all their clothes are from human hands and...”
But Rika didn't come further with her explanation before Rosalia came back, her face showing a brilliant smile while her eyes were fixed on me with a desire so strong it even scared me.
“UHHHH! I GOT IT!”
She proclaimed.
She looked so crazed and out of her mind that I wouldn't have been surprised to see her running naked through the streets while yelling “Heureka!” over and over. Just what kind of epiphany did she have in these few minutes? But I felt like I would soon know.
However, before I had even finished that thought, I was put back on my feet while the staff excitedly arranged several pieces of cloth that only held me in place by needles that kept poking me with every move. I forced myself to stand still, and then I saw it. Even after seeing all the previous designs, this one really took it home.
And while I stood there transfixed, Rosalia couldn't sit still from excitement, jumping up and down, proclaiming again and again,
*Jiggle*
“I got it! I got it!”
*Jiggle*
