Approximately 12-minute read time.

27

Autumn came and three weeks later, she opened her door to find Ramora and ol’ Bidge waiting with numerous dresses. After the older woman helped hang them in a wide wardrobe, she left, one finger deep in her nose. Tildy hurried forward to inspect every beautiful outfit, though she was hesitant to touch even a single sleeve. They were an intangible perfection that would be ruined once they became real. One by one, she slid each wooden hanger aside. Some were extravagant; others, more reserved. And there were far more than the promised seven.

“I’ve picked up a bit about dressmaking, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say you have a color here for every shade your skin might assume,” Ramora laughed. Tildy offered only a wan smile, unsure she wanted to recount her experience in the dressmaker’s. Their common secret had created a bond between them, and she was hesitant to jeopardize that. Ramora removed a simple dress of gentle lavender and said, “Her lady asked that you wear this one first, as it’s her fav’rite.”

Tildy wasn’t sure about the color, but having no frill or lace, the design suited her well enough. It reminded her of spring thistles, and that was something. Overlapping leaves stitched with green covered the bodice, climbing to a low collar that encircled her neck. Normally, she would have disliked such a design, but she appreciated how it would conceal Mum’s chain, not to mention her birthmark. She loved the sewn butterflies that flew upwards from the hem, giving the impression that the wearer walked amongst a swarm in flight. After she privately changed and stood before the mirrors, Ramora circled, pulling and pushing and otherwise adjusting the garment to ensure it hung properly. “Yes, yes, that’ll do you right. Looks like you’ve lightened your skin tone a bit, too.” Tildy saw that her olive skin had faded somewhat, and her hair had assumed a flaxen tinge. “With a little practice, you could probably do that for every dress!”

That idea somewhat disconcerted Tildy, but she dismissed it. The baroness certainly wouldn’t have planned something like that, right?

Ramora interrupted her thoughts. “Oh, look at the butterflies!” she cooed. “Twirl around!”

⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙

Tildy did as instructed and indeed, when she moved, the lower half of the dress appeared covered with fluttering shapes. “Are you sure there’s no magic in this?”

Ramora laughed. “It’s no more than a trick of her threads. Madrilda wouldn’t know of magicks if they stared her in the face.” As though to illustrate her point with a jest, her own features began to change to look like the dressmaker. She paused halfway, distracted, and leaned her cheek against an open palm. “You sure look like a lady of the castle. You fit in, I mean, as though you’ve always been here.”

“Story of my life,” Tildy replied. “The witch called me a ‘social chameleodore’ when I was a child.”

“Ahh, but you’re a child!” Ramora said over her shoulder with a bright smile, tugging the laces in the back.

“Hush!” Tildy laughed, though the constricting dress made it difficult.

“Did that also involve changing your eyes?” Ramora asked as she kneeled to fuss with the hem. “They’ve gone lavender.” Tildy took a step toward the mirror, but the maid held firm to the dress. “Steady there, I found a lose thread.”

Tildy studied the needlework on the cuffs, which created delicate dandelpuff seeds that floated away up the sleeves. “She said I had this uncanny ability to blend into a crowd, any crowd, making me nearly impossible to find.”

“And we’re not talking sneaks-n-seeks, are we?”

“No, but I was always good at that game, too. I was a small girl, and in the shadows of grown-ups, I just—” she paused, searching for the word.

“Transformed?” Ramora said, popping up and looking fully like Madrilda.

“Shifted,” Tildy said, smiling at the maid’s little game. “She said the changes were subtle: a change of hair or skin color. Sometimes I got taller or put on weight.”

“And people never noticed a strange child amongst them that suddenly looked different?”

“Adults are pretty unobservant. Stupid sometimes.”

“Hey!” Ramora’s original face looked back at her, full of playful indignation.

Tildy giggled. “Looking back, it’s surprising what they concoct to explain away the unusual.”

“Extraordinary is the word you want.”

“Mostly I’m just a girl.”

“Tildy,” Ramora said with a serious tone, “You are anything but.”

Tildy blushed. “Cheers.”

“When you blended into the crowd, how did she ever find you?”

⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙

“This will sound strange, but I think it’s her nose.” She twisted her hips to watch the butterflies again.

Ramora’s musical laugh filled the room. “Her nose? How bad did you smell?”

“Don’t laugh!” Tildy said, smiling at the recollection. “She’s always smelling things on the wind before anyone else. She’s like a hunting hound or winged peralin. But aside from that, my changes only affect me, not my clothes. Once she homed in on my general area, she could always spot my dress.

“She made me that after one incident, actually,” Tildy said, pointing to her favorite. “I haven’t managed to outgrow it.”

“It’s lovely,” Ramora said, picking it up. “What’s special about it?”

“There are times where my body expands significantly.”

“You get fat?”

“Don’t be unkind,” Tildy said with a frown.

“Sorry.”

“It’s alright. When that happens, my clothing doesn’t fit. One day, I hid amongst some rotund Obolongolongs – they’re Humans but are round like barrels and have no necks.” She puffed out her cheeks, hunched her shoulders, and imitated their waddling footsteps. Blushing, she said, “She found me sitting there, a look of horror on my face as I realized my body was suddenly three times wider and my clothes had popped nearly every seam.”

Ramora giggled and covered her mouth. “Oh no!”

“It was awful! Fortunately, Obollos, as we call them, have trouble looking down and didn’t notice the awkward youngling at their feet. But that was enough for her. She covered me in her cloak, and we rushed home.”

“I suppose it was enough for you, too.”

“Yes!” Tildy laughed. “She used this special cloth and braided thread that allowed for significant stretching.” She took the hem and pulled it between her fingers.

Ramora’s eyes widened. “I’ve never seen such a thing!” she exclaimed as she pulled the material. “What a wonder your witch-mother is.” Her face became thoughtful. “So, you can gain weight or get taller or change your hair and skin. You could literally become anyone.”

⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙

Tildy hadn’t thought of it like that before. “I don’t know about that. I can’t really control it. It simply…happens. Usually when I want to hide.”

“I learned to control it and I’m sure you can, too.” She placed her hand on Tildy’s, before returning the dress to its chair.

Tildy looked up in the mirror and saw that she looked like Ramora. “Oh!”

Her friend turned back and hooted with laughter. “I’m flattered, I’m sure, but I wouldn’t go ‘round the castle looking like that, ‘less you want to make beds and brush hair.”

Tildy, on the other hand, stood there in shock. She hadn’t made such a dramatic change before. If her face ever shifted, she could always see herself. But now – now! – she was completely gone. The dress constricted her shoulders and chest, and the hem billowed a few more inches from the ground. She poked her cheek, and of course, felt it.

The maid shook her head as they stood side by side before the mirrors. “I daresay you won’t hide in Southershard looking like that! She finds me wherever I am. ‘Specially when she’s in a rage,” she finished, her voice quieting.

“How do I – how do I change back?”

“That a good question, iddinit? Might as well ask yourself how y’ breathe.”

Tildy watched her version of Ramora frown. “I mean, I just breathe.”

“Aye, and this just happens, too. But in a pinch,” she said, grabbing ahold of Tildy’s skin, “sometimes you need to be jarred out of it.”

“Ouch!” Tildy said, rubbing the spot. But the trick had worked: her face, skin, and even eyes had transformed to their usual state. The dress fit as it had before. “Thanks.”

“Think nothing of it,” Ramora said, looking her up and down. “There you are, daughter of the castle again.” A funny look crossed her face, and she began to tidy the room, though it wasn’t messy.

Something her friend had said nagged at Tildy. “What was that about Lady Amaranth’s anger?”

⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙⸙

The woman blanched. “It’s nothing, miss,” she said, adopting a servant’s deferential tone.

Tildy stood in her way, voice fierce. “Ramora, you’re my friend. I haven’t had many, so I realize when I’ve got one.”

The maid forced a smile but couldn’t dispel a sadness that crept around her eyes and mouth. “As long as you’re in those dresses, I can’t. No,” she said, sensing Tildy’s mind. “Don’t take it off. It’s not you, miss, it’s my station. She’d be ever so mad if she knew I was this friendly with a young noble.”

Tildy made a dismissive noise. “I live in a cottage where I have to wash the floors and prune the walls.”

“Nobility ain’t about your home, though some think that’s enough. Not money, neither. It’s about here,” she said, touching Tildy’s head. “And here,” she added, pointing at Tildy’s heart.

Usually, she flinched when someone’s hand neared the birthmark that lay across her sternum, but the old reflex remained forgotten as she considered Ramora’s earnest words.

The maid continued: “You’re a better person than me, inside, and we both know it. You’re destined for great things. I’m not,” she paused, picking up an empty basin. “S’way things are.”

This bewildered Tildy. She wasn’t sure what had changed, though she knew it couldn’t be her attire. “You’re being stupid! What’s wrong with you?”

“Tildy, listen. There’s naught that happens at Southershard that she don’t find out. If her anger’s bad, her punishments are worse. Sometimes people come here, and we never see them leave. Same happens to servants that displease her. Families, too.”

“What does that mean?”

Ramora shook her head. “Nothing. We don’t know nothing. That’s the key. In Southershard, in the valley, or the wilderness beyond: them who say nothing’s going on can happily carry on their lives. That’s all I want.”

Tildy wanted to shake her. None of this made any sense! They’d talked so many times – and for hours. Things had changed with Tildy’s new clothes, but that couldn’t be the heart of the issue. She considered giving the maid a pinch of her own. Or something more forceful.

Ramora took advantage of the distraction and walked to the door. “By your leave, miss,” she said, and closed it behind her.

Tildy is about to behold her parents’ images for the first time. And the infant versions of her and the brother she doesn’t know she has in Chapter 28 – The Lost Royals.

---

---