Not Broken, Just Redrawn
Country: Aurivelle
City: Auremont
Alvara
(A week later)
“Can’t you at least be fast?” I shouted, tapping my foot impatiently as Isabella finally stepped out of the bathroom.
She emerged, damp hair clinging to her neck, that infuriatingly calm look on her face.
“Don’t rush me,” she said smoothly. “I like to take my time.”
“Take your time? I’ve been waiting twenty minutes!” I shot back, exasperated.
“Oh, my dear,” she replied, tilting her head with mock innocence. “That is nothing compared to how long I’ve always waited for you. Have you forgotten?”
“I always get ready before you show up,” I said.
“You? Please,” she scoffed, striding toward her wardrobe, smirk tugging at her lips.
“You know that’s a lie.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “It was my fault for agreeing to this.”
She didn’t reply, just smirked again. That smirk…I swear it had a purpose to annoy me.
It has been a week since… everything.
A week since the betrayal.
A week since my design was destroyed.
But I had worked through it, redrawn every line, reimagined every detail. I finally finished the sketches yesterday, and today… Today I will bring my masterpiece to life.
Isabella had been a constant presence. Always ready to help, always tossing ideas around, catching me whenever I felt like giving up.
Our routine had settled into something familiar: a morning exercise, then one of us heading to the other’s room to work.
Playful banter, coffee on the side, occasional teasing…it was both grounding and motivating.
Even when she tried to drive me mad with her deliberate slowness, I couldn’t deny it… it was part of the rhythm we’d created.
And today, that rhythm would carry me straight to my creation.
Then it was breakfast, and after that, straight to our studios, where we worked until evening, rested, and followed the same rhythm the next day.
The week had gone surprisingly well. The news about Mila was still buzzing around the institute…some people cursed her out, others couldn’t believe she could sink so low.
Helena and her friends hadn’t caused any problems. Everyone seemed focused on doing their best, trying to prove themselves in the wake of recent events.
“Let’s go,” Isabella said, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“I thought you didn’t want to go today,” I replied, glaring at her while picking up my bag from her bed.
“Now you know how it feels,” she said with a teasing smile.
I ignored her and walked out, letting her laughter trail behind me.
After breakfast, we headed to our respective studios.
“See you later,” Isabella called, waving as she turned toward hers.
I nodded and entered my own workspace. Dropping my bag, I pulled out my sketchbook and took a deep breath.
First things first…I placed the mannequin in the center of my studio, adjusting it until it was perfectly upright, ready to become the canvas for the design I’d been rebuilding all week.
And then, I started.
The first step was the base layer…a soft, off-white silk lining that would sit comfortably beneath all the embellishments.
I draped it carefully over the mannequin, pinning it at the shoulders and down the center back to hold it in place. Every fold, every tuck was deliberate; I wanted the fabric to flow naturally once the outer layer was added.
Next came the outer fabric: a delicate, translucent tulle embroidered with tiny violet and lilac flowers.
I spread it over the mannequin, letting it cascade to the floor.
Using straight pins, I anchored it lightly at the shoulders and sides, checking constantly that the floral pattern wasn’t distorted.
This was where the real work lay. Each section had to sit perfectly without bunching, so the embroidered flowers would appear evenly spaced, catching the light just right.
“This is coming out great,” Isabella’s voice broke my concentration.
“Are you sure it will be good?” I asked, my voice filled with doubt. I wasn’t entirely certain it would look like I had envisioned it on paper.
“This is really great, Alvara,” she said, her tone warm but teasing. “You’ve just begun, but it’s already taking shape. This is going to be one of your masterpieces, believe me.”
I wasn’t sure if she was being honest or just trying to boost my confidence…but for some reason, I wanted to believe her.
She plopped down in the chair across from me and pulled out two packs of chips, some cookies, and a soda can. I just stared at her.
“What are you doing?” I asked, genuinely surprised.
“What do you mean? I’m having my lunch.”
“Is it time for lunch already?” I asked, glancing at my phone and blinking in disbelief.
1:23 PM.
“How did it get so late?” I muttered, pulling out my own snacks.
“Well, you’ve been busy working. That’s typical you…so focused you forget to eat,”
she said with a small smile.
“I… I was just really into it,” I admitted, sitting across from her.
“I know. I just hope all this hard work pays off. I want nothing less than top three,” she said, nibbling on a chip.
“Of course,” I said, my voice firm. “We’ll be among the top three. That’s not hope…it’s certainty.”
She grinned at me, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Confidence suits you.”
After a short, easy lunch, Isabella packed up her things and left the studio, leaving me alone once more. I let out a deep breath, sat back, and then turned my full attention back to the mannequin.
I measured the back and shoulders meticulously, cutting additional tulle panels for volume, knowing that the cape had to drape elegantly without losing its shape.
Each panel was attached slowly, every stitch precise and deliberate. Too tight, and the tulle puckered; too loose, and it hung limply, ruining the fluidity I envisioned.
The hood came next. I drafted a pattern from soft silk organza, slightly stiffened to hold its form, and attached it seamlessly to the cape’s neckline.
Then came the work that would define the piece: the rose trim. Using pre-made silk roses, I hand-stitched each one along the edge of the hood, layering them so they overlapped naturally.
It was almost meditative, but my eyes constantly flicked between the mannequin and my reference sketch, ensuring every rose fell perfectly.
Next, the purple satin ribbon closures along the front of the cape. I marked each spot carefully, pinning and adjusting to guarantee symmetry before sewing them by hand. I reinforced each knot so the ribbons would hold their structure when tied.
Finally, the finishing touches: the shoes. I positioned a pair of deep purple satin boots beneath the hemline, matching the ribbons. I adjusted the hem so it brushed the floor just enough to suggest movement, without tangling or dragging.
I stepped back, circling the mannequin, inspecting every angle. The embroidered flowers caught the light perfectly, the roses on the hood framed the face exquisitely, and the ribbons tied the look together into one cohesive whole.
“This is good, Alvara,” Isabella’s voice broke my concentration as she entered the studio.
“I can’t believe you designed a runway dress in a single day,” she added, awe and admiration in her tone.
“Neither can I,” I said quietly, taking a deep breath. “This institute has really shaped us.”
“It has,” she agreed, circling the mannequin, her eyes tracing the lines I had created.
I glanced at the clock.
“Can’t believe it’s already 8 PM,” I murmured, packing my tools and scraps into my bag.
Isabella didn’t respond, still studying the dress like she was memorizing every detail.
After dinner, we retreated to our separate rooms. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, letting the weight of accomplishment settle in.
In just a month and a few weeks, the runway show would arrive…and I was determined not just to finish on time, but to finish ahead of schedule, each design better than the last.
Thoughts of my next design began to take shape in my mind, intricate sketches forming behind my eyelids. But fatigue overtook me, and sleep came, carrying visions of tulle, roses, and ribbons with it.