"Mae, so you have a skirt I could borrow?"
She pointed him to the dresser across the way. "You know where they are."
Zeven helped himself to the drawer and the various articles of clothing in it. Working his way through it, he found what he was looking for in a simple wrap skirt. It was a mix of different shades of brown swirling together in a tiny, close knot weave. Perfect in mobility, comfort, and avoiding attention.
"This one. I'll bring it back when I am done with it." he kissed her on top of her head and headed towards the door, "Chris!"
Zeven called the two of them into Mae's room, skirt in hand. He wasted no time with explanations as he snaked his arm in between her and her cloak.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Making you less conspicuous." He tied the skirt in front with a bow before stepping back to look at his handiwork. " It looks better on you than it did on Brennan."
Chris turned to look at Brennan, who had now pursed his lips and was glaring at Zeven. "I would like to make a correction that I never ended up wearing a skirt out of the house." Zeven showed nothing but amusement at the memory, but he was not the one to speak first.
"But it did make your legs look stunning."
All eyes turned to Mae, who was sitting on the bed wearing the same facial expression Zeven was. Brennan jumped on top of Mae's bed shaking the entire frame. Bouncing her up and down on the mattress until they both began to laugh, losing themselves in their own little world.
Zeven took this opportunity to lean over to Chris.
"Don't worry what other people will think."
"I didn't say anything."
"You didn't have to." he offered her a gentle smile, "Just take a break from being a prince for a day. Live a little."
Zeven stretched his arm around her and started walking towards the door. Leaving the siblings, Chris and Zeven grabbed their shoes by the front door and made their way outside. Sitting on the stone slab out front, they laced their shoes back up.
Chris was still in the skirt that Zeven had tied around her. As Zeven looked at her, it surprised him that it did little to change her appearance. Wearing a skirt didn't magically transform her into a beautiful woman, it was still Chris, only now he couldn't make out her legs. He didn't know what he had expected.
When she finished tying her shoes she stood up causing the skirt to whoosh around her ankles. As the fabric rustled against her legs, her lips tightened and her eyes narrowed. Zeven could see the disdain eating away at her, but she didn't try to take it off. Instead she stood taller, tilting her chin up daring to be defied.
When Zeven peered over his glasses for a moment it wasn't Chris that he saw, but her mother, standing there before him. Hard and soft lines blended easily across their canvas. A few stray pieces of blonde hair framed her face, softly fluttering in the wind. And the freckles seemed to kiss her cheeks. She was beautiful. If the sea had a face, he was looking at it. But she turned her head to look at him, and instead of tender blue eyes, steely grey ones caught his. And the illusion was broken.
It was just Chris. And the way she kicked at the skirt to keep it from tangling at her feet was even further proof that she remained unchanged.