Reflections
Ghastly pale skin. Dark eyes—and something to irritate the sclera into a cute red. Even my nails got treated to a little filing and black polish.
The only thing they couldn’t do was straighten my teeth, but he left a referral in my pocket to get an orthodontist in. I don’t actually plan on letting Vincenza know about that part.
They might stick a needle in me.
I keep on adjusting the empty frames they handed me, tight on my nose. The second referral in my pocket is for an optometrist to get me real lenses. Third one’s for a jeweler to put some rings on my fingers—I strongly begged against putting them anywhere else.
And the fourth referral’s for a hysterectomy. Not clear on how the tailor can refer something like that, or how it affects aesthetics, but I have it.
Regardless, I have a beautiful dress and the choice between four very utilitarian diners. A pasta shop. A meat and pasta shop. A pasta, meat, and also some more pasta shop. And a bakery.
I take the bakery.
Crunch is just preferable when it comes to food, and pasta lacks in it… mostly? Curetta style Pizza is crunchy, and it’s kind of like lasagna, I guess. And… can noodles be battered and deep fried? I suddenly want deep fried noodles. But only if they’re crunchy.
Walking into a bakery and dreaming of how much better food exists probably isn’t good either. Maybe I should think less? Well, obviously yes. But here specifically.
“You’re next,” a bored woman calls out to me.
I stammer forward to the glass counter, hiding away many sweet doughs. “Could I get the Lawrinian rye bread?”
“Which one?”
“...That one?” I point to the most boring looking one in the display.
“Sure.” She grabs the display piece directly, wraps it in parchment, and stops. “Wait. Did you want it by the slice or in whole?”
“In whole.”
“If you sit at a table, we can give you a knife and butter.”
“No thanks. I prefer just… I’ll just eat it whole.”
“Okay.” She shrugs and hands over the fully wrapped loaf. “Two crescents.”
I hand over two of the coins and sit at a table. The bread chews alright, but I personally prefer it when it’s hot—even if my mother always tells me I should let it cool first.
9:42.
I time my eating to the clock. There’s not much of a point given how I can just eat it while walking… I don’t actually have a counter to that thought.
The time lets my thoughts wander.
Mistress Vincenza’s previous apprentice—because she obviously had one—what happened to her? Maybe him? Them? Whatever. Necromancy means many things, and all those things line up to make a necromancer’s apprentice actually managing to die very concerning.
And she wasn’t picky with me; she didn’t even have competitors for the position. The only comfort is that Stella acted like I was an unusually underqualified pick. Although, Stella could just be wrong. It might not be unusual that no one wanted to apprentice for Mistress Vincenza.
A needle’s prick might just not be the worst thing I suffer.
I assure myself that I’ll talk with Piero as I linger near Stella’s Luxury Fabrics. He’s familiar. He’s a regular. He’ll have answers.
Because I don’t have the confidence to ask her, Mistress Vincenza, who I see walking up to me and—uh, walking past.
“Wait! I’m here!” I yell.
She turns around to look at me, turns back to the door of Stella’s, and then turns back to me with a surprised expression. “Catarina?”
“Y-yes?”
Her eyes dance around me suspiciously. “Stella… did well with you.”
“Thanks! Is it nice?” I pick up the sides of my skirt and take careful steps forward.
“That was the implication of what I said, yes.” She tilts her head. “You might even be considered a competitive candidate if you applied for apprenticeship wearing that.”
More praise. Soft and cooling like an aquifer in a desert. Makes my face red like I’ve been standing in one.
“Don’t take any of that to heart,” she adds in her normal, subdued tone. “How many referrals did they give you?”
“They always do that?” I exclaim, before remembering my plan to hide some of them.
“Always… You didn’t wear glasses when you first came to me.”
“Yeah, that was one of them.” I surrender myself to handing them all over.
She flips through all the papers, skimming over each.
I clasp my hands together.
“Open your mouth,” she requests without even looking up.
And I do.
“Do you ever experience tooth pain or other issues?”
“No.”
“You’re allowed a day off of your choice for a regular exam, but the aesthetic trips aren’t mandatory. Optometrist is.”
I rub my arm. “And the hysterectomy?”
She narrows her eyes. “I was waiting to discuss that in the car, but if you don’t mind speaking publicly on it: technically optional. You’ll become sterile eventually either way, but there’ll be a longer discussion when the conversation of your consorting comes up. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Her work really is blessed by the Ring…” she whispers before taking off.
I run just behind her and pester, “is it that good?”
“Stella is a wonder with her art. Her brother too.” She adds, like she’s looking for something negative to say, “they were overzealous with the concealer and hid your freckles, but that’ll be fixed once you have a patron and replace it with magic.”
“I didn’t know you knew I had those.”
“...And I wasn’t supposed to notice, how?”
“I mean—I just… I wouldn’t know if you had freckles.”
“I do.”
“Oh, sorry.” I only avert my eyes for a moment, a curiosity to check taking over my dread.
She really does. Not a lot—she does seem unnatural outside—but there’s a couple dots.
“Are you overacting due to energy, or is some deficit sapping your self-control? Did you eat?” she asks like an accusation.
“Yes, Mistress. Some bread. Rye.”
“The specifics aren’t necessary, but I do appreciate your good behavior with calling me ‘Mistress.’ You might make an okay apprentice yet.”
This smile comes easily, and it lasts. From when we enter the car, to when I bob my head to the swing playing on the radio, to when we get out and prepare for the rest of the day’s labor.
I might just be an okay apprentice. Maybe decent too, one day?
Mistress Vincenza unlocks the front door exactly at 11:00, taking down the ‘CLOSED’ signage.
Piero walks in somewhere around 11:00:07. “Your apprentice looks charming in her new gown.”
“She does,” Mistress Vincenza factually replies.
“I didn’t expect you would get her the whole set so soon.”
I busily look at the desk manual while perking my ears to eavesdrop.
She says, “I haven’t. If she survives the week, she’ll go back for nine more rounds. Maybe some rings as well if she does particularly well.”
“Either way, she just looks like—she’s… It’s a good look for an apprentice, isn’t it?”
“I don’t find your stammering to be measurably kinder. Just get to your seat.” Mistress Vincenza marches away into the back hallway.
I take the opportunity to intercept Piero. “Hey! Hi. You’re Mistress Vincenza’s friend?”
“Brother. But nice to speak with you… Catarina?”
“Yes, Catarina. She… told you? Wait—“ I blink. “Didn’t you say ‘my mother’ to her at some point?”
“Half, technically. And of course she told me about you; I made her.” He leans on a shelf, rocking it with his laughter.
“So, um…”
This is a lot harder now that they’re related.
I force my tongue to continue, “am I safe? As her apprentice?”
“Mostly. You won’t die.”
“Her last apprentice did.”
His whole body freezes, face going pale.
“I’m sorry! I don’t… Should I not have said that? I don’t know anything about them except that they died and that nobody else wanted to work here and that I’m terrified.”
“...You didn’t know. It’s fine.” He sighs, still uncomfortable. “It was a cancer of the lung.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He takes a tentative step away. “Don’t invoke the subject with her. And… not me either. It was nice to see you, Catarina.”
“Okay. It—Glad to say hi, Piero.”