Novelas y relatos de The Seamstress Of Sardinia

"Mistress, guests are arriving at a fast pace." "Thank you, Bastain," I kept my eyes on the names of the people I had invited. They mainly were my most trusted allies of Pandora, the lords who forever served the Mistress. "Mistress, may I speak from what's on my mind?" "If this is about my costume," I turn my head and sigh. "I had an earful from your wife." The tailor who made my costume was Bastian's wife, Mavelin. She mainly designs and makes the attire for everyone's clothes here—a spider-humanoid with six extra retractable arms to do her work efficiently. Mavelin can create twenty outfits within an hour. She is one of the best.

Said one of the seamstresses. "I am Cairistiona." "And I am Gavenia." the two dressmakers introduced themselves. "I am glad to meet you." “Well, I think we won't have any trouble making her a beautiful wedding dress. What do you say?" Cairistiona addressed the other two women. "Indeed, look at that waist," Gavenia said, putting her two hands on the right and left side of Skye's waist, without warning or asking for permission, surprising her. "She's so thin and look at those cute breasts," she said, placing her hands on the sides of Skye's breasts, cupping them.

“I know.” The seamstress circled me one last time, fingers smoothing the fabric at my waist with practiced care. “That will do for today,” she said softly. “I will prepare the final adjustments.” “Thank you,” I replied. She gathered her pins and clipboard, nodding once to Dante before moving toward the adjoining room. The door remained open, but her footsteps faded, replaced by the low murmur of voices and the hum of the salon beyond the wall. For the first time since we arrived, we were alone.

The white dress had cost Serena three months of savings. She'd bought it from an old seamstress on the southern edge of the territory — a woman who'd sewn Luna gowns for thirty years and had pressed Serena's hands between her own papery palms when the final fitting was done, and whispered, 'He is lucky, child. Make sure he knows it.' Serena had laughed then. Now, standing before the mirror in her small cottage at the edge of the Thorn Pack grounds, she couldn't remember how that laugh had felt.

Only dread. She tried to speak once, her voice rough. “What is this for?” The seamstress with the pins in her mouth removed them just long enough to answer. “La sposa. The bride.” She said it simply, as if it explained everything. “I didn’t agree to this,” Rose whispered. Another seamstress hushed her with a quick shake of the head. “Do not speak. The Don wants perfection. Do not ruin it.” So she stayed quiet as they worked, though her stomach twisted tighter with each adjustment.

At two in the morning, I finished the first seam. The first week, I made nothing good. The second week, I made three average dresses. The third week, I made one dress that made me stop and stare. It was black silk with clean lines. I finished the hem at midnight, pressed it in the morning, and carried it to a boutique on Via Monte Napoleone. The woman behind the counter did not look up. She was placing handbags on a glass shelf. "Can I help you?" her voice was bored. "I am a designer, i hoped to show you"

She asked her. Sayari raised her head. "Yes, I am that skilled, Your Majesty. I have been the one making dresses for the past three queens that have sat on the throne." She told her. Griselda's brows rose at what she said. Her interest keened, she might have what she was looking for. She thought. "I see. You can start." She told her. Sayari had her apprentices bring out some dresses she made already and Selda tried them out. The dresses were near perfection but Griselda as she was, she said that she did not like the dull design of them and that she wanted another.

Oscar's voice shook as he struck Bernardo across the face once more. "Mr. Olivieri is the most powerful Don in Sicelia. He could erase a family from Newvale City with a mere gesture. "Remember, without Mr. Olivieri's support and protection, the Vito family would've been long gone!" Bernardo was stunned, as if struck by lightning, and turned to look at me mechanically. The woman he ridiculed as a simpleton, whose assistant he allowed to shame and strike with impunity, was none other than the daughter of Sicelia's most powerful Don.

"The driver escorted them to Askim Elbise, the boutique owned by Ignazio's cousin. Sara, the beautiful woman and owner of the boutique, stood welcoming Ignazio and Olivia at the door. "An honor to welcome you, Sir Ignazio," she said with exaggerated enthusiasm, kissing Ignazio's cheek. "Straight to my office," Sara said to Ignazio, who walked ahead. "Or do you want to have the fitting upstairs?" she asked, but Ignazio shook his head. The man stepped into Sara's room where Sara's assistant was already present. If Olivia didn't know them, she would have thought Sara's reception of Ignazio was too intimate. Fortunately, the woman's husband was not there because if he were, Olivia was sure there

She could stay with him then. When she reached home, the seamstress was waiting for her. It was an old woman who addressed herself as Madam Leanne. Her tone and demeanour showed off obvious authority. Lily had quietly reminded her that this lady only served the upper class noblewomen and therefore she's clearly a highly respected seamstress. Melissa quickly apologized for her tardiness. Madam Leanne studied the girl in front of her and instantly noticed her attire before she gasped loudly, "My Lady! What is that you're wearing??"