"Arms up, my lady," the seamstress murmured, pins between her lips as she adjusted the drape of yet another gown. "Duke Haverford has expressed particular fondness for emerald green."
Calypso raised her arms obediently. The emerald silk was exquisite, its shimmer a liquid fortune. To her, it felt like embalming cloth, meticulously wrapping a goddess for a tomb of mortal design.
"The Duke has an eye for timeless quality," Agna observed, turning the gems in her palm so they fractured the light. "He appreciates things that are... preserved. A reputation, a bloodline. He understands their value must not be diminished by fleeting impulses."
"How fortunate for him."
The seamstress worked in silence, her hands quick and sure as she pinned and adjusted. But Calypso barely noticed. Her awareness stretched beyond these suffocating chambers, reaching through the stone walls and terraced streets toward the warm pulse that meant Xavier was alive and close and here.
