V. The dressmaker fussed over Venris as he fitted the voluminous white wedding gown on her, sewing hemlines here and there as Venris stood for him as still as a statue. Mirrors surrounded them, giving Venris a rather full view of her wearing the filmy confection of chiffon and finest Payon lace.
It was also then that Venris noticed that she was paling more than ever, giving her a whitewashed look that was worsened with the pristine whiteness of the translucent fabric of the gown. Her complexion was not all that was worsened, but also her lack of energy. For the past two days since her father had announced her marriage to Diradem Tarkis, the thief, she refused neither to go out of her room nor to eat her food. It was only when she was fed up with the free-flowing messages of best wishes for her and her husband-to-be that she decided she was through with it and resorted to entreating her father to go here, to Payon of all places, to get her dress done by their Royal Dressmaker, just so she could get away from the rather grating well wishers for two days at least.
The empty dressmaker’s studio served as a temporary refuge from the chaos that was her impending doom. Venris was rather thankful that the Royal Dressmaker kept his mouth shut and did not poke his nose into the latest Dastonia affair, for which she felt very fortunate, since the whole Rune-Midgard added the Dastonia family to their list of favorite hobbies. There were the gossips, the stolen portraits, and Pronteran upper-class ladies copying Venris’ latest dresses…the list just went on and on.
Finally the Royal Dressmaker had taken the gown off her and lovingly wrapped it in crushed velour and put into a box. He handed the packaged wedding gown with a bow. “I am very much honored to create the gown for your very special day, Lady Dastonia,” he smiled, hands clasped together, apparently satisfied with his work.
Venris had a sudden great urge to spit on his face, but instead smiled prettily as she took the package from his arms, and walked out of the studio.
Poker-faced after she went through the door, she charged through the robust bustle of activity that filled Payon’s streets. Happy tourists from Prontera populated most of the Archer Village’s grounds, and gleeful squeals of children watching Payon archers strut their skills could be heard from many meters away. The gaiety of the surroundings irked Venris.
She hugged the package closer to her as she strode, as if it would protect her from possible prying of people who would recognize her. Eventually she caught sight of her carriage and she half-ran, half-walked towards it, grateful that she would be out of sight soonest.
In her eagerness she accidentally bumped into a hunter, who was lugging around his catch, a wolf. Her package spilled into his lap and the lupine carrion fell into her arms, and the dead weight caused her to lose balance and fall.
“Gah. Lady…” the hunter winced as he patted the rather ludicrous apple-o’-archer (speared with an Arrow of Shadow, no less) on his head, which was slightly squashed with the impact. “…Could you be more careful next time?”
“You’re the one to talk,” Venris muttered as she, with great effort, pushed off the dead wolf from her body and tried to stand. The hunter offered a hand to help her up, which she gingerly accepted. “I thought hunters and archers possess sight as sharp as a vulture’s.” She scoffed. “Apparently, I’m wrong.”
The hunter was about to mouth a retort, but for some reason he stopped himself, his eyes clearly indicating that he recognized her.
Venris inwardly groaned. Great. Now news will spread that Venris Dastonia is a damned klutz.
But instead of the awkward excuses and apologies Venris expected, the hunter looked scornfully at her. “And now I’m regretting that I helped you up,” he said. He then thrust the crushed package at her. “Your behavior is what I expect from most of you noble-borns…narrow-minded and prejudiced.” He picked up his quarry and hoisted it up his shoulders, looking at her with disdain. “All of you rich kids are the same. Go back to your purty life, Dastonia. You don’t belong here among us low-lifes.”
But he was not done yet. He paused and looked at her over his shoulder. “Oh right. I heard you’re going to be married to Diradem Tarkis. Congratulations,” he sneered. “A spoiled rich kid and a high-class thief. Figures.”
A brief spurt of laughter from the surrounding crowd followed the hunter’s outburst.
Stunned, Venris just stood there, biting her lip, trying not to cry. She clinched the package so hard that its fragile contents were almost bursting out of the cardboard material.
What gives you the right to talk to me like that? Do you even know me? She wanted to say those words to him, but her mouth felt dry.
It was then that she noticed people were staring at her, pausing from their business, murmuring amongst themselves, and at times laughing with covered mouths, eyes furtively staring at her. It filled Venris with indignation so harsh it raged inside of her.
This is enough.
“What are you all staring at?!” Venris shouted to all of the curious passers-by. “Is this the first time you’ve seen a woman trip and fall? Is this the first time you’ve seen me humiliated? Is this the first time all of you, yes, ALL OF YOU, ruined my life?”
The people looked at her blankly.
“I HATE all of you!” Venris screeched, now attracting the attention of all those within the crowded area. “You think you know me better than I do, you despicable idiots, when you’re not--”
“That’s enough, Venris,” a soft female voice behind her said, effectively cutting her off than any harsh retort.
Venris turned to look at the one who dared interrupt her outburst. Her furious blue eyes were met with identical, yet calm and emphatic blue orbs. She was about to snap at her, but the huntress gave off a look that told her that she was not one to be crossed.
The ash-blonde huntress looked reproachfully at the crowd. “What are you staring at? Venris Dastonia isn’t that special. Leave her alone. Shoo.”
She then threw daggers at the hunter who mocked Venris. “And you, we’re going to talk later.”
The hunter wordlessly raised his palms, a gesture of admitting defeat.
A gentle but firm hand held Venris’ shoulder. “Let’s go.”
