As the morning began, the day dragged on, slow as molasses. My fingers ached from stitching, every joint stiff and sore from the relentless rhythm of needle and thread. I thought I’d finally finished my part when Madam Therrow clucked her tongue, turning her shrewd gaze in my direction.


“Ten handkerchiefs by tomorrow,” she said, her voice as sharp as a shears’ edge. “Clean, neat stitching, none of that haphazard work you tend toward when you’re distracted.”


I swallowed down the retort bubbling in my throat. My mind was miles away already, aching for fresh air, for a brief chance to stretch my legs and let my cramped hands rest. But I only nodded, keeping my head low, knowing that arguing would do me no good. Fayra and Lidia slipped out the back with smug grins, whispering and laughing as they went off for their afternoon break. My cheeks burned as I watched them go, envy tightening in my chest. They had the privilege of pausing, of resting without worry, while I sat hunched over my work, hands raw and restless.


As Madam Therrow gathered her things to make her daily rounds through the town, I had to bite my lip to keep from sighing. She had a large bundle of finished garments with her, ready to display in the market square. The very thought of her leaving set a spark of opportunity alight in my mind, a secret glimmer I tried to keep hidden even from myself.


Once Madam Therrow disappeared out the door, I seized my chance. I reached into the depths of my own sewing basket and pulled out my hidden dress—a project I'd labored over in secret, piece by piece. It was nothing grand, nothing that would stand out among the gowns of noblewomen, but it was crafted with care. Simple yet elegant, with dark green fabric I’d managed to salvage and delicate stitching along the hem. It was the sort of dress I dreamed of wearing myself, but in truth, it would serve me better in another’s hands.


Heart pounding, I slipped out the back and made my way toward the market square, clutching the dress close to my chest. The air was cool, a faint breeze carrying the scent of rain that hadn’t yet fallen. The cobblestones beneath my feet were slick and uneven, and the murmur of townsfolk mingled with the cries of hawkers and merchants.


The market was alive with people, stalls packed tightly together, the vibrant colors of fruits, fabrics, and trinkets mingling in a sea of movement and sound. A thick canopy of clouds overhead cast the square in a dim light, adding to the sense of urgency in the air. Buyers haggled over prices, their voices rising and falling in sharp bursts, while children darted between the stalls, chasing each other with careless laughter.


I scanned the crowd, looking for a likely buyer. Most folk here were commoners, like me, or maybe a little better off. But every now and then, a noblewoman would drift past, her fine clothes a stark contrast against the humble wares of the vendors. And then I saw her—a lady of unmistakable wealth, with her two young daughters trailing behind like shadows.


The noblewoman moved with a sort of haughty grace, her chin lifted, eyes scanning the market with a mixture of curiosity and disdain. She wore a gown of rich purple silk, embroidered with threads of gold that caught the light each time she moved. Her hair was piled high and adorned with pearls, and around her neck hung a delicate chain with a single sapphire. Beside her, her twin daughters, barely twelve by the look of them, were dressed in matching cream-colored dresses, each with a smug, self-satisfied expression that sent a shiver down my spine.


They were barely more than children, yet they looked at the world with eyes like a snake’s—cold, unblinking, and filled with malice. The way they sneered and whispered to each other, casting sideways glances at passersby, made me feel like an insect under a boot.


Gathering my courage, I took a shaky breath and stepped forward, cradling my dress in both hands as I approached them. “Excuse me, my lady,” I murmured, dipping my head in a respectful bow. “I have a dress here—a fine piece, if you’d care to see it. It’s... well-crafted.”


The woman turned her gaze on me, her eyes narrowing as she took in my plain clothes and unkempt hair. I felt my cheeks flush, but I held my ground, keeping my hands steady as I offered her the dress.


She took it in her hands, her gloved fingers brushing over the fabric with an air of indifference. But there was a flicker of interest in her eyes, faint as it was. She examined the stitching along the hem, the careful darts and pleats I’d sewn into the bodice, the subtle yet deliberate design.


“It’s… decent,” she said at last, her tone dismissive, but her gaze lingered a moment longer. “How much?”


I stammered, suddenly unsure of myself. “A… a few silvers, my lady. Or, if you’d be so generous, a gold piece would cover it.”


One of the twin daughters let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “A gold piece? For that?” she sneered, her lip curling in disdain. “It’s barely worth a copper. Look at those stitches—they’re practically crooked.”


Her sister giggled, and the sound of it made my cheeks burn. I held my tongue, swallowing back the sharp retort that danced on the edge of my lips. This dress was my work, my pride, and to hear it ridiculed by a girl who’d never sewn a stitch in her life stung like a lash.


The noblewoman gave her daughters a disapproving look, but her interest in the dress had clearly waned. She thrust it back into my hands with a sigh, as though it had wasted her time. “Come along, girls,” she said coolly. “This market grows more tedious by the minute.”


The twins shot me one last mocking glance, their eyes gleaming with amusement as they swept past me, leaving me standing alone in the middle of the bustling square, the dress clutched tightly in my hands.