"This place is massive. You're asking for miracles," she said, peeking behind a wall.
"I'm asking for persistence." Lucius said softly.
"You're impossible." Jean shook her head before she heard his light chuckle.
"And you're delightful." He said.
Eventually, Jean began to cough, the dust becoming unbearable. She waved a hand in front of her face, trying to clear the air, but her lungs protested.
"That's it. I'm done," she said firmly, her voice hoarse. "We'll pick this up tomorrow. I'm heading back."
Lucius sighed in her mind. "Fine. But don't forget what you've seen here, Jean. It's only the beginning."
As she stepped outside, the ruin seemed even larger and more foreboding under the night sky. She glanced back at it, frowning. The dark silhouette loomed, a quiet reminder of how much she had yet to uncover.
The carriage waited, its lantern casting a faint glow on the path. She climbed in, grateful for the warmth of the blankets inside.
The ride back to the castle was quiet, save for the creak of the wheels and the rhythmic clop of the horses' hooves. Jean leaned against the seat, her mind racing with thoughts of the ruin.
Lucius's presence, so strong in the ruin, was gone now. She didn't feel him as they passed the gates or as the castle came into view.
Later, after her nightly routine, Jean finally sank into her bed. The ache in her muscles was a reminder of the night's adventure, but her mind refused to rest.
Just as she began to drift off, Lucius's voice broke the silence, soft and teasing. "Goodnight, pumpkin."
Her eyes snapped open, a shiver running down her spine. She didn't respond, her lips pressing into a thin line.
They needed to talk.
~~~{─────────
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~}~~~
Earlier this Afternoon.
The afternoon sunlight spilled through the castle's high windows as Jean led the dressmaker, Spur Stanley, and his apprentice, Monica Asilem, through the grand halls.
Spur was a man of refined demeanor, his thin-framed spectacles balanced delicately on his nose, and his hands folded in front of him as if in constant thought.
Beside him, Monica bounced with every step, her eyes darting to the intricate tapestries and polished floors, marveling at the sheer splendor of the castle.
"Miss Goliath, this is magnificent! Look at those arches! I've never seen anything like it!" Monica gushed, clutching her sketchbook tightly to her chest.
Jean glanced back at the pair, her expression neutral but amused. "Keep up, Miss Asilem. Her Grace isn't one to keep guests waiting."
Monica blushed, muttering a quick apology before adjusting her pace.
As they reached Salviana's chambers, Jean stopped, gesturing to the wide double doors. "Wait here a moment. I'll inform Her Grace of your arrival."
Spur nodded, bowing his head slightly. "Thank you, Miss Goliath. We'll wait patiently."
Salviana appeared moments later, descending the staircase with her usual grace. Her pale blue gown swayed with each step, and her warm smile lit up the room.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Stanley, Miss Asilem," she greeted, her voice soft but welcoming.
Spur straightened, bowing deeply. "Your Grace, it is an honor to meet you. I am Spur Stanley, dressmaker and humble servant of style. This," he gestured to the young woman beside him, "is my apprentice, Monica Asilem, a budding talent in her own right."
Monica curtsied, her cheeks glowing with excitement. "Your Grace, it's such a privilege to be here! I promise we'll make you the most beautiful dresses."
Salviana chuckled lightly, gesturing for them to sit. "It's lovely to meet you both. Please, have some refreshments before we begin."
Jean directed servants to bring drinks and light snacks. The group settled in, the initial formality easing as conversation flowed.
Monica chatted animatedly with Jean, while Spur observed Salviana, clearly measuring her frame and features with his practiced eye.
Finally, Spur set down his glass and folded his hands on his lap. "Your Grace, may I ask what kind of dresses you're envisioning? Something regal for formal events, or perhaps—"
"Sleeping dresses," Salviana interrupted, her expression perfectly innocent.
The room stilled for a moment. Jean froze mid-sip of her tea, Monica's sketchbook slipped slightly from her grip, and Spur blinked rapidly, his composure briefly faltering.
"Sleeping… dresses, Your Grace?" Spur asked, his tone careful.
"Yes," Salviana said, pouting slightly. "I like feeling comfortable when I sleep, but I've been stuck wearing these useless, scratchy materials I found in the wardrobe here. They're either too old or not my taste. I need something soft, luxurious, and attractive."
Monica's face turned bright red, and even Jean's lips twitched in an effort not to laugh.
"I… see," Spur said, quickly regaining his composure.
He adjusted his spectacles. "Well, comfort is essential, of course. And if I may, Your Grace, you deserve only the finest fabrics for restful sleep."
"Exactly!" Salviana said, her expression brightening. "So I trust you to make what you think is best—something that looks lovely on me. Use every color and style you can imagine. I want to be surprised."
Spur's surprise gave way to delight. "You're giving me full creative freedom, Your Grace?"
"Of course," Salviana said with a playful shrug. "I'm not a designer—I leave that to the experts. Just make sure it's beautiful."
The dressmaker leaned back slightly, a grin spreading across his face. "Your Grace, it would be my absolute pleasure. I'll bring samples of my finest fabrics for your approval before I begin."
Monica, still slightly flustered, chimed in. "We'll make sure every piece is perfect, Your Grace. And… I'd love to work on some of them myself, if you'd allow it."
Salviana smiled warmly. "I'd like that, Miss Asilem. Thank you both for your assurance."
Soon, the tailors had worked efficiently. Monica, bright-eyed and eager, followed every instruction from Spur, carefully measuring Salviana's form while maintaining the utmost respect.
"She's stunning," Spur murmured to himself as he adjusted the notes in his sketchbook. "A figure like hers will make any design come alive."
Jean crossed her arms, her sharp gaze studying Spur. "Make something trendy, something that surpasses what anyone else might wear," she added, her voice firm.