Vision In Ivory And Purple
Country: Aurivelle
City: Cressford
Alvara
The first thing I did was open my new sketchbook.
The page stared back at me..blank, stark, unforgiving.
My room was quiet. Mom and Leo had long since gone to bed, and the only sound left in the house was the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. Tonight, it seemed impossibly loud.
I gripped my pencil tighter.
Grayson Hawthorne’s voice drifted into my mind, unbidden.
Skill alone doesn’t equal competence.
I exhaled slowly, letting the words sink in.
“Fine,” I murmured under my breath.
Then I lowered the pencil to the page.
The first sketch came quickly. A simple outline…a gown with a fitted bodice, a cinched waist, a flowing skirt. My hand moved automatically, guided by habit more than inspiration.
I sat the pencil down and studied it.
It’s… nice.
But nice wasn’t enough.
Not for this.
I tore the page out.
The next design was more daring…a fitted silhouette with heavy embroidery across the bodice.
I hated it.
Another page gone.
And another.
The small trash bin beside my desk was filled with crumpled paper. My fingers were smudged with graphite, my head aching from overthinking.
What do I even want this dress to say?
The question pressed heavily against my chest.
A beautiful dress isn’t enough. Anyone with enough skill can create something pretty.
But this submission… this had to mean something.
I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. When I opened them again, my gaze drifted to the window.
Outside, the small plants Mom kept near the door swayed gently in the night breeze. Their leaves twisted around each other, curling and stretching toward the porch light.
Something about the way they moved clicked in my mind.
Growth.
Delicate… but persistent.
Alive.
I straightened suddenly, heart quickening, and grabbed my pencil again.
This time, the lines came easily.
I began with a strapless bodice.
Clean. Elegant. Simple enough to let the rest of the design breathe.
Then came the vines.
Thin, curling lines wove across the neckline, twisting naturally over the fabric as if they belonged there.
Tiny leaves followed the curves, trailing softly across the bodice.
My pulse quickened.
The skirt came next.
I abandoned a traditional shape. Instead, I divided it into long, soft panels…each like a delicate petal.
Flower petals.
Blooming.
Beneath the petals, I added a second layer. Something deeper. Richer.
I shaded the fabric carefully, letting the color settle in my mind as a deep, royal purple. I imagined the silk spilling to the floor, flowing behind the dress like liquid velvet.
By the time I finally put down the pencil, the first hint of dawn was brushing the sky outside my window.
I looked down at the page.
For the first time that night, I smiled.
Bringing the design to life, I realized, was a completely different battle.
I glanced at the clock.
6:15 a.m.
Already.
The night had disappeared faster than I realized. My heart skipped a beat as I shook off the lingering sleep and grabbed my things.
I had a quick shower,dressed quickly, careful not to wake anyone, and slipped out of the apartment.
The streets were still quiet, the city only just beginning to stir.
Luck was on my side…the first bus arrived just as I reached the stop.
I climbed aboard and claimed a seat by the window, the gentle sway of the bus lulling me awake as the early morning light spilled over the streets.
By the time I arrived at Maison Aurelle, the boutique was still silent. I was the first one there. The security guard, bleary-eyed from the early hour, raised an eyebrow as I approached the door.
“First one in today, Miss Alvara,” he muttered, unlocking the door with a slow, deliberate click.
“Morning,” I said softly, stepping inside.
The familiar scent of fabrics and polish greeted me, comforting and grounding.
No one else was here. The boutique was mine.
Perfect.
I carried my small bag to my workstation and set it down, then pulled out my sketchbook.
I spent what felt like forever studying the fabrics before finally settling on what I needed.
For the bodice, I chose ivory satin…
smooth, structured, strong enough to hold the shape of a strapless gown.
The skirt panels came from the same satin, each piece carefully cut into elongated petal shapes.
But the real magic was underneath. Deep purple silk.
The moment it caught the light, I knew I had made the right choice.
Soft elegance above, hidden power beneath.
I started with the bodice. The satin felt firm beneath my fingers as I shaped it carefully, smoothing the neckline until it curved perfectly.
I sewed slowly, checking each seam twice before moving on.
Once the structure was solid, I began attaching the petal panels…one by one. Each had to fall naturally. If even one sat wrong, the entire silhouette would stiffen. More than once I undid stitches and started over. By the time the skirt was finished, my shoulders ached.
And then… the vines.
I didn’t use printed fabric.
Every vine was created by hand. I threaded a needle with deep green embroidery thread and began stitching delicate lines across the bodice.
The vines curled along the neckline, twisting as if they were growing right out of the satin.
Tiny silk leaves followed, each stitched carefully so they seemed to sprout naturally.
Minutes blurred into hours. My fingers ached.
More than once, I had to step away just to rest my eyes.
I didn’t rush. I couldn’t. This dress…
it had to be perfect.
Finally, I stepped back.
The room was silent. The ivory satin caught the soft morning light.
The vines curled gently along the neckline, delicate and alive.
Beneath the petal panels, the deep purple silk spilled into a dramatic train that stretched across the floor.
I just stood there, staring. I barely recognized it as something I had made.
My chest tightened.
“I hope this is enough,” I whispered softly.
I hadn’t realized how long I’d been standing there until the boutique door chimed.
I jumped slightly, instinctively wiping my hands on a cloth. Exhaustion hit me in waves. My eyes burned from lack of sleep, but adrenaline kept me upright.
Footsteps approached behind me.
“Alvara? You’re here this ea…”
Isabella stopped mid-sentence.
Silence filled the room. My heart pounded harder with every second.
Did I mess it up? Did I overdo it?
Then I heard her sharp inhale.
“Oh. My. God.”
I turned slowly.
Isabella stood a few feet away, staring at the mannequin like she’d forgotten how to breathe. Her eyes were wide, her mouth slightly open, and then she grabbed my arm.
“YOU MADE THIS?”
I winced at her volume.
“Lower your voice before you bring down the building,” I muttered.
She ignored me completely.
“Alvara!” she practically yelled. “This is insane!”
Before I could respond, footsteps echoed from the front of the boutique. Two of my other colleagues walked in mid-conversation. Their voices faltered when they saw the dress.
“What is…”
They stopped, all eyes locked on the mannequin.
“You… made this?” one asked slowly.
I nodded.
Her brows lifted.
“Wow.”
The second lady crossed her arms, her expression tightening slightly.
“It’s… different,” she said, tone carefully neutral.
Isabella shot her a look.
“Different?” she repeated. “Are you blind? This looks like something that belongs on a runway.”
I felt my cheeks warm under their attention.
“It’s just my submission piece,” I said quietly.
“JUST?”
Isabella turned to me as if I’d personally insulted her.
“You stayed up all night making this and you’re calling it just a submission piece?”
I shrugged awkwardly.
“What’s going on?” Clara’s voice cut through the tension as she stepped inside.
Her eyes scanned the room before landing on the mannequin. She paused. Slowly, she walked closer.
I watched her carefully, trying to read her expression, but her face revealed nothing.
She stopped directly in front of the dress. Several long seconds passed, then she gently lifted one of the ivory panels, revealing the deep purple silk beneath.
Her brows rose slightly.
“Who designed this?”
My throat went dry.
“I did,” I said.
She studied me for a long moment, then nodded.
“This,” she said calmly, “is not the work of someone with ‘just a skill.’”
My chest tightened.
She gestured toward the dress.
“This is a vision.”
For the first time since I began this design, I felt like I might actually have a chance.