"When your own creations derail you, who do you become—an artist, or a cautionary forgotten character?"
The question lingered in Notty’s mind as she sat alone in her room, the faint smell of lavender oil doing little to soothe her nerves. The soft glow of enchanted orbs illuminated the room, casting long shadows across mannequins draped in half-finished designs. The place felt too quiet, too heavy, as though the very air around her had taken on the weight of last night’s disaster.
The floating gown, alive and unruly, had been the talk of Ridicullus ever since it spiraled out of control. Gossip spread like wildfire, reaching every noble court and common tavern. Some whispered of her brilliance, others of her supposed descent into forbidden magic. But the worst accusations were the ones she couldn’t escape: those that painted her as reckless, dangerous, or worse, cursed.
A knock at the door shattered the silence, sharp and deliberate. Notty flinched but didn’t move, her fingers gripping the fabric of the gown she’d been stitching for hours without progress.
“Notty,” came Ludikrousz’s familiar voice, a mix of impatience and concern. “I know you’re in there. Are you going to sulk all day, or are you going to let me in?”
She groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Go away, Ludikrousz. I’m not in the mood.”
“That’s unfortunate,” he replied dryly, the door creaking open despite her protest. “Because you’re about to get a healthy dose of me whether you like it or not.”
Notty glared at him as he stepped inside, his dark coat immaculate despite the chaos of the day. He carried himself with his usual air of confidence, as though he hadn’t just walked into a war zone of frayed threads and frayed nerves.
“You’re relentless, do you know that?” she said, her voice sharp but tired.
“Relentless is just another word for dependable,” he countered, shutting the door behind him. “And from what I hear, you could use a little dependability right now.”
Notty bristled, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she turned back to her gown, focusing on a seam that didn’t need her attention. “If you’re here to gloat, you can leave.”
“Gloat? About what?” Ludikrousz leaned against the edge of the table, his dark eyes studying her. “About the fact that Ridicullus is in a frenzy over your latest creation? Or that half the nobility is calling it a masterpiece while the other half is calling for your exile? Because honestly, I’m more impressed than anything. It’s not every day someone shakes up the entire kingdom with one gown.”
“Spare me the flattery,” she muttered. “You don’t know what it’s like to have your entire career hang by a thread.”
Ludikrousz raised an eyebrow, a flicker of something softer crossing his face. “Don’t I?”
Notty paused, her needle hovering midair. His words surprised her. Ludikrousz, for all his charm and wit, rarely offered a glimpse into his own vulnerabilities. She looked at him, really looked, and saw a hint of understanding in his expression that made her chest tighten.
“Then you know how this feels,” she said quietly. “The pressure, the fear that one mistake will destroy everything you’ve worked for.”
“I know,” he admitted, his tone uncharacteristically serious. “But you’re not alone in this, Notty. You’ve got me, whether you like it or not.”
She let out a shaky breath, her fingers trembling as she set the needle down. “I don’t know what’s happening to me, Ludikrousz. First the storm, then the glow, and now this… Whatever that was last night, it wasn’t my magic. At least, not magic I can control.”
Ludikrousz’s gaze lingered on her for a moment before he spoke. “Then we’ll find out.”
The word hung between them, heavy with a promise she wasn’t sure she could trust. But before she could respond, he straightened and nodded toward the pile of unfinished gowns. “Now, what’s the plan? Because if you’re thinking of hiding out here until the rumors blow over, I have bad news for you. They’re not going away anytime soon.”
Notty sighed, running a hand through her hair. “I need to save my reputation. That means another show, something even more spectacular than the last.”
“And less… sentient,” Ludikrousz added with a smirk.
“Very funny,” she said, though a ghost of a smile tugged at her lips. “But yes, less sentient. I’ll need to rework these designs, double-check every enchantment, and—”
“Take a break,” Ludikrousz interrupted.
She blinked at him, caught off guard. “What?”
“You heard me. You’re running on fumes, Notty. If you don’t stop and breathe, you’re going to burn out before you even thread the first needle.”
“I don’t have time to stop,” she argued, but her voice lacked conviction. “Every moment I waste is another moment for the rumors to grow.”
“And every moment you push yourself is another step closer to disaster,” he countered, his voice firm. “Come on. One hour. Let me distract you.”
“With what? More sarcasm and unsolicited advice?”
He grinned. “Maybe. But I also know a place where the gossip hasn’t reached yet. A little tavern on the edge of the city. No nobles, no enchanted gowns—just good wine and bad music.”
Notty hesitated, the idea strangely tempting. The weight on her shoulders felt unbearable, and a small part of her longed for even a brief escape.
“Fine,” she said at last. “But if the music’s as bad as you say, I’m holding you personally responsible.”
Ludikrousz chuckled, offering her his arm with an exaggerated bow. “Deal.”
That night, Notty returned to her place feeling lighter than she had in days. The tavern had been exactly as Ludikrousz described—noisy, chaotic, and utterly charming in its imperfections. For a few fleeting hours, she’d allowed herself to laugh, to drink wine that was too sweet and eat bread that was too stale, and for once, she’d felt like a person instead of a brand or a burden.
But now, as the quiet of the place surrounded her, reality crept back in. She stared at her worktable, the scattered sketches and half-finished fabrics a reminder of everything she still needed to fix. Her fingers hovered over a piece of shimmering silver thread, but the familiar rush of inspiration didn’t come.
“Not tonight,” she muttered to herself, pushing away from the table. Her mind was too clouded, her heart too heavy.
She climbed the narrow staircase to the small living space above the studio, her body aching with exhaustion. The bed, simple but welcoming, beckoned her, and she sank into it with a sigh. For the first time in what felt like forever, sleep came easily.
She was running. The world around her was a blur of light and shadow, twisted shapes that seemed to shift with every step. Her bare feet pounded against a ground that felt like silk one moment and stone the next. The air was heavy, charged with magic, and the faint hum of a song she couldn’t place filled her ears.
“Who’s there?” she called out, her voice echoing strangely. No answer.
The shapes around her began to take form—gowns, dozens of them, floating in midair. Their fabrics shimmered with an eerie glow, and their threads moved like living things. They surrounded her, hemming her in, their movements synchronized like dancers in a macabre ballet.
“You created us,” a voice whispered, low and melodic, though it seemed to come from everywhere at once. “You gave us life.”
“I didn’t mean to,” she said, her voice trembling.
The gowns swirled closer, their fabrics brushing against her skin like cold whispers.
“You abandoned us,” the voice accused, sharper now. “Left us unfinished, incomplete. We only want to be whole.”
One of the gowns surged forward, its bodice twisting and elongating until it resembled an outstretched hand. Notty stumbled back, her heart pounding as she tried to escape, but the fabric coiled around her wrist, its threads tightening like vines.
“No!” she cried, pulling against the grip, but it was too strong.
The other gowns followed, their movements frantic, desperate. They wrapped around her, their threads digging into her skin, and she felt their weight pulling her down, suffocating her.
“Make us whole,” the voice demanded, louder now, almost deafening.
“I can’t,” she gasped, tears streaming down her face. “I don’t know how!”
The light around her grew blinding, the hum of magic building to a crescendo. Just as the pressure became unbearable, she screamed—and woke up. Notty bolted upright in bed, her chest heaving as she gasped for air. Her skin was slick with sweat, her heart racing as if she’d truly been running. She looked down at her hands, half-expecting to see threads wrapped around them, but they were empty.
The room was dark, silent except for the faint rustle of fabric from downstairs. She froze, her breath catching. Slowly, she climbed out of bed, her feet moving on instinct as she descended the staircase. The place was dim, the enchanted orbs glowing faintly, but it was enough to see the scene before her.
One of the gowns—a flowing piece of midnight blue silk—was swaying gently, as though caught in an invisible breeze. Its threads glimmered faintly, moving of their own accord.
Notty stepped closer, her pulse thundering in her ears. “This isn’t possible,” she whispered.
The gown stilled, its movements ceasing as if it had heard her. For a moment, it was silent again, and she let out a shaky breath.
Then, just as she turned to leave, a single thread unwound itself from the hem, curling in the air like a snake.
Notty stared in horror as the thread began weaving itself into the air, forming symbols she didn’t recognize. The faint hum of magic filled the room, and she knew, with chilling certainty, that this was only the beginning.