Perfect Fit || Clara & Victor
Victor had not awaited this day with any measure of excitement. Instead, he had prayed it would never come, that the earth would open up beneath his feet and swallow him as it had his family so very long ago. But as each day passed, Victor realized the futility of his hopes. He was not ill. The gods would not hear his prayers. And he would be made to endure this embarrassment for as long as his patron saw fit.
Brinon had heard mention of the seamstress Clara Bridge from some friend or another. His companion happily showing off his wares, Brinon had sought out the young woman’s talented hands for his own attire. But Brinon grew disinterested in himself quickly, finding it much more agreeable to fret over his whore than himself.
For weeks Victor had listened to him prattle on; “How could you let your clothes become so worn?” “Do you think I can take you out looking like that?” “We will have to get you something else to wear soon. I cannot bare to be seen with you when you are dressed so shabbily.” The chastisements had become second nature to Victor, and he took them as readily as he did his next breath. But for as long as Brinon had gone on about correcting this issue, he’d never expected the man to make good on his word.
Yet there they stood, inside of his best friend’s shop, waiting for the seamstress to tend to them.
As they’d made there way, Victor had done his best to dissuade Brinon from his plan. There were other seamstresses in Nore, ones closer to the man’s home that would charge far less than what Clara asked. But Brinon would not be placated. “You will have clothes sewn by the Queen’s own clothier,” the man had replied. “You should be more grateful, Victor. Anyone else would be.”
He’d fallen into a bitter silence after that, his patron growing more and more frustrated with his behavior. It seemed though that his anger had reached its peak when Victor all but hid behind him. “What in Norlan’s name is wrong with you?” his patron scolded. “You are acting like a child, Victor. It is not as if I have never bought you clothes before.”
Victor started to respond, but his mouth grew dry as the seamstress herself came into his view. A horrendous blush darkened the pale skin of his cheeks, his eyes casting downward before he dropped into a bow. “Good day to you, Miss Bridge. My apologies if we interrupted your work...”
