AMIRA
We spent some time in a men’s clothing store, searching for just the right cashmere sweater and wool coat for Kyllen. Once we’d found and bought what he liked—a soft-as-a-cloud, olive-green sweater and a light-brown, long coat—he dragged me to a women’s clothing boutique nearby.
I grabbed the first plain black coat and was ready to leave, but Kyllen wouldn’t let me.
“I don’t need anything else,” I argued. “I’ll be warm enough in this.”
“You may not need anything else, but is there anything you want?”
“Want?” I glanced around the store hesitantly. Soft fabrics, shimmering trim, gentle pastel colors—so many desirable things. “What’s the point, Kyllen? I can’t take any of these with me.”
He rested his hands on his hips.
“Unless you’re planning to cross the River of Mists in the nude—which I wouldn’t object to, by the way—you will wear something. Why not let it be clothes you like and choose for yourself?” He gestured at my baggy outfit discreetly. “Something that fits you better than this.”
I took a critical look at my reflection in the mirror between two aisles. A scrawny person, unclear whether male or female, stuffed in a shapeless pile of black and gray cotton, glared back at me.
“Fine. I guess I could change,” I conceded.
“Splendid.” Kyllen’s lips spread in a satisfied smile. He then leaned closer to whisper in my ear, only for me to hear. “Remember, we have lots of paper money that will be useless anywhere else but here. Go, sweet pea.” He waved a hand at me, leaving me in care of the super enthusiastic saleswoman. “Find something you like.”
Shopping for myself didn’t prove easy. Other than getting bras and panties off the rack, I’d never bought clothes before. I had no idea what “body type” I was, what “style” I wore, what was my preferred “color pallet” or any other equally confusing things the salesperson kept asking me. I didn’t even know what size I was. We had to figure that out by trial and error.
When we finally put together an outfit for me, I felt winded and drained.
My new clothes consisted of a pair of black velvet pants and a sweater. The pants seemed dressy, for special occasions, but they were so soft and comfortable, I could wear them all day, every day. The sweater was cashmere and in the same olive-green color as Kyllen’s.
I exited the fitting rooms and twirled in front of Kyllen, who reclined in an armchair. “What do you think?”
He lifted his head, taking me in from my old, comfy running shoes, which I’d refused to change, up to my chest. With the edge of his hood shielding his eyes, he couldn’t see higher than my chin.
“How about this?” He lifted a wide strip of blush-pink material that had been draped over his knee.
The saleswoman nodded approvingly. “Oh, that's a pashmina scarf. So beautiful.”
“You want me to change my scarf?” I fisted my hands into the familiar gray fabric wrapped around my neck.
It was fairly new. I’d only been wearing it for a couple of months and only because the black scarf I’d had before got so old and ratty, it resembled a rope when coiled around my neck.
Hanging the pink pashmina over one shoulder, Kyllen got up from the armchair and strolled my way.
“All I want is for you to try and see how you like it.” Placing his hands on my shoulders, he walked me backwards into the fitting room, then spun me around to face the mirror. “May I?” He took the end of my gray scarf between his fingers, with a clear intention of removing it and exposing my neck.
I hiked up my shoulders, bracing my spine.
He didn’t move, patiently waiting for my permission.
The last time someone had removed my clothes, it was the bracks just before they whipped Radax and me. The helplessness, shame, and fear I’d felt then rushed me anew. My heart raced, and my hands turned clammy.
“I…” I dragged in a heavy breath.
“Shh.” His voice came like the sound of a breeze in tall grass, calming and comforting. His lips gently skimmed the shell of my ear. “It’s just me, Amira. I won’t harm you. I’ll never do anything unless you let me.”
Kyllen would rather walk this world half-blinded by his hood than risk harming me. He wasn’t a brack.
“Okay, Kyllen,” I gave him my permission.
Slowly, as if giving me a chance to stop him any moment, he unwound my old gray scarf from around my neck and tossed it to the floor. Instead of replacing it with the pink one, however, he gently trailed his fingers up the sides of my neck.
The air felt cool against my exposed skin, his touch light like a brush of dragonfly wings.
“Mmm,” he half-moaned, burying his nose in the place where my neck met my shoulder. “I love this spot,” he murmured against my skin, breathing in deeply. “This is where the scent of you is the strongest. I feel I could taste it.”
The fabric of his hood shifted as something twitched underneath.
A wild thought hit me, bursting through my chest with anticipation and thrill. Madame had used a mirror to look at him. I was standing in front of a floor-to-ceiling mirror right now, with him right behind me.
“Kyllen, can I see your eyes?” I’d been dreaming about him. In my dreams, his eyes were black and empty sometimes, like holes into the abyss. Other times, they were impossibly bright like two stars. “It’s safe for me to look at you in the mirror, isn’t it?”
I wanted to see his face, if just this once.