8

~Avila

The fabric around my waist is pulled tighter, pressing the breath from my lungs.

"Ow," I yelp as a needle pokes my skin, leaving a stinging sensation in its wake.

I look ridiculous. I'm standing in front of a large mirror, staring back at a version of me I don't recgonise.

Since my memory has returned to me, I've struggled to relate to the person I see in the mirror. Coming to terms with the fact that this is me has been harder than I anticipated.

"Apologies Princess, the needle is awfully sharp," the seamstress murmurs, securing the fabric in place with her safety pin.

I stare at the dress she is working on. The fabric, on the outside, is light and flowy, but the structure of the dress is suffocating as it pulls at my rubs and presses into my lungs.

"Stop flinching, dear, and the seamstress won't poke you," Crimson exclaims, brushing my hair back over my shoulder so she can admire the sweeping neckline.

"This is very uncomfortable," I grit out.

When Roel isn't around, Crimson