Since Diana would be crafting our custom dresses for the upcoming tea party from scratch, Aunt Elle insisted we also try on a range of her boutique’s ready-made designs. "For inspiration," she said with a smile that promised we weren’t escaping until every rack had been properly raided.

  I ended up trying on at least a dozen different gowns, as did Cece and Eri. It didn’t take long to confirm what we already suspected—we each had wildly different tastes.

  I found myself drawn to sensible silhouettes. Weather-conscious fabrics, modest necklines, comfortable hems. I even asked Diana if she could incorporate hidden pockets into my design. She blinked in surprise before clutching her sketchpad like I’d just handed her the secret to life itself.“Practical and clever,” she murmured, already scribbling notes. Honestly, in my old world, the joy of a good pocket was unmatched. Some things never change.

  Cece, of course, turned the fitting session into a personal stage rehearsal. She twirled dramatically in a deep crimson gown with sheer sleeves and decred, “This one is for a chance encounter in a moonlit garden.” “You’re not even in a py,” I said. “I might be,” she replied. “Life’s unpredictable like that.”

  Eri, meanwhile, was half-hidden behind a mountain of dresses Aunt Elle had personally selected—ce, embroidery, ribbons galore. She peeked out from the pile with a quiet sigh.“If I were picking,” she muttered, “I’d choose something I could actually move in.” I raised an eyebrow. “Move where?” “Anywhere. Over fences. Into forests. Out of situations.” We all stared. She blinked. “What? Bugs don’t collect themselves.”

  I let out a soft chuckle, shaking my head at her words.

  Eventually, we colpsed onto the velvet couch at the center of the fitting room, dresses flung over armrests and skirts half-zipped. Diana was still circling us with pins and measuring tape, but I felt a warm sense of ease settle in. Even with the chaos, even with Aunt Elle’s fashion standards and Cece’s dramatics and Eri’s subtle rebellion—this moment felt good.Like the start of something.

  After our delightful chaos at Diana’s Boutique, our next stop brought us to Atelier Evandelle—the crown jewel of Hertel’s accessory scene. The atelier was known for its sleek modern designs, specializing in shoes, bags, and hats that often pushed the boundaries of traditional noble fashion.

  We were greeted at the entrance by the ever-suave Mister Hahn, the store’s manager. With his perfectly tailored suit, silver tie pin, and ever-present smile, he looked every bit the fashion connoisseur. Evandelle herself was currently away at the royal capital, orchestrating a grand fashion ga where her test summer collection was set to debut.Fortunately, Aunt Elle had already pulled a few strings—and secured select pieces in advance just for us.

  “I’m absolutely thrilled to present you with Madame Evandelle’s test collection,” Mister Hahn said, his tone reverent as he gestured for us to follow. “Right this way, dies—the VIP room awaits.”

  “I’m excited too,” Aunt Elle chimed in as we walked behind him, her heels clicking smartly against the polished floor. “I was only shown the preliminary sketches, not the finished products.”

  The boutique's VIP room felt like stepping into a dream. Velvet-lined walls in soft dove gray, golden sconces casting a warm glow, and mirrored panels that made the room feel double its size. A circur dispy table stood at the center, already lined with curated selections—elegant heels adorned with delicate metalwork, miniature purses encrusted with tiny gemstones, and wide-brimmed hats sculpted like wearable art.

  Cece let out a gasp. “Oh, I need that bag,” she whispered urgently, already reaching toward a structured clutch shaped like a butterfly with pearl-tipped wings.

  Eri, on the other hand, was gravitating toward a pair of short boots with reinforced soles. “Do you think these are good for running?” she asked seriously, turning one over in her hand. “Just in case.”

  Good thing Aunt Elle hadn’t heard what Eri said — she was too busy speaking with Mister Hahn. Otherwise, Eri would’ve earned herself another lecture for sure.

  As for me, I paused in front of a pale cream hat with a gold-threaded ribbon tucked just above the brim. There was something so quietly elegant about it—like it didn’t need to shout to be noticed.

  “I think this one suits you,” Jane said, appearing beside me with a knowing look. “Soft, but with a little gleam.”

  I smiled, gently picking it up. “It’s like a sunny day in accessory form.”

  "Mister Hahn beamed at my comment.". “Madame Evandelle would be delighted to hear that.”

  We each tried on the shoes, taking a few steps to test how they felt—and to our delight, they were not only stylish but surprisingly comfortable. Aunt Elle had worked her magic once again, ensuring Evandelle designed age-appropriate pieces tailored for us. The craftsmanship was impeccable, blending youthful charm with refined sophistication.

  Among all the beautiful designs, there was one pair that felt like it had been made just for me.

  A pair of blush pink ankle-strap fts made from soft satin, with tiny embroidered roses blooming near the toe. A dainty crystal buckle fastened them at the side, adding just a touch of sparkle—enough to feel special without being over the top.

  Eri chose ce-up ballet slippers in a muted lic hue. The ribbon ties danced around her ankles as she moved, and the soles were lightly padded, clearly made for long days of wandering through gardens. She twirled once, beaming. “These feel like something a forest sprite would wear,” she said.

  Cece, ever the show-stealer, went for a pair of low-heeled Mary Janes in deep navy with scalloped edges and pearl-button straps. They were elegant without being too mature—exactly the kind of shoe a young duchess-in-training would wear to a tea party, or to make a bold entrance somewhere important.

  Then came the bags.

  I selected a gemstone-embedded minaudière, a compact clutch with a timeless silhouette. Its polished metal frame gleamed subtly under the light, while the delicate gemstones woven into its surface gave it a quiet, regal elegance. It was the kind of piece you could carry for years and still look effortlessly refined.

  Eri, true to her whimsical nature, picked a round canteen bag. Its structured, circur shape and crossbody strap suited her perfectly. Made from soft ivory leather with tiny stitched beetle motifs (a nod to her insectarium, perhaps), it gave off a pyful yet curated vibe—very Eri.

  As for Cece, she chose a half-moon purse in deep plum velvet, with gold hardware and a braided handle. The bold curve of the design paired with its rich color gave it the fir of a leading dy’s accessory—dramatic, eye-catching, and undeniably heroine-like. Exactly what Cece would go for.

  Once we had finished trying on every pair of shoes, admiring the carefully curated bags, and indulging in a parade of elegant hats, it was time to make our final selections. With a graceful wave of her hand, Aunt Elle signaled Mister Hahn. He moved swiftly, his professionalism as crisp as his tailored coat, and his team began boxing up our chosen items with meticulous care. Each package was handled as though it were a priceless artifact, and our attendants—equally diligent—carried them out one by one, loading them gently into the waiting carriage.

  “Countess,” Mister Hahn said with a warm smile, bowing deeply, “it is always a delight to be at your service.”

  Aunt Elle offered a gracious nod in return, her voice light yet commanding. “Please extend my regards to Madame Evandelle. I trust her showcase in the royal capital will be nothing short of triumphant.”

  Our carriage rattled gently down Rosendale Walk as we admired our new treasures, the excitement of the day still buzzing in our veins. And yet, somehow, the most magical stop was still ahead: Rosewaltz & Co.

  Though the boutique carried an exquisite selection of gowns and accessories, it was their jewelry that made them legendary. A custom commission from Rosewaltz wasn’t merely an ornament—it was a decration. To request a personalized piece, one had to pce an order at least six months in advance. Once completed, the creation would be elegantly dispyed in their showroom, admired but never sold, before being delivered to its rightful owner with great ceremony.

  Each piece came with an official announcement—publicly decring that it was crafted solely for the individual it was meant for, never to be replicated or offered again. The result? A romanticized allure that swept through the empire like wildfire.

  In fact, it has become something of a cultural phenomenon. Their famed tagline echoed through parlors and poetry alike:

  “Is it truly love if your name isn’t etched into a piece from Rosewaltz & Co.?”

  We stepped into Rosewaltz & Co., greeted instantly by a hush of refined luxury. The polished marble floors reflected the soft glow of a magnificent crystal chandelier above—its countless facets catching the light and scattering it across the showroom in delicate rainbows. Every gleam felt intentional, every detail curated. The air smelled faintly of pressed florals and something warm—like sunlit velvet and old parchment.

  Lady Sheree, the store’s poised manager, approached us with a practiced smile and graceful curtsy. “Welcome, Countess. It is always our greatest pleasure to serve you.”

  “Thank you, Sheree,” Aunt Elle replied warmly.

  “Madame Rosewaltz sends her regards,” Lady Sheree continued, guiding us further in. “She’s currently traveling across the empire—gathering inspiration for our next seasonal line. However, we’ve prepared a special showcase for your visit today. The pieces have been selected with care—youthful, refined, and perfect for an outdoor tea party. If you would kindly follow me.”

  We trailed her into a side salon, and gasped in quiet awe. Dispyed beneath gss domes and velvet trays were an array of dazzling jewels. Sunlight streamed through tall windows, making the stones sparkle like stardust trapped in crystal.

  Each of us was drawn to something different.

  I found myself mesmerized by a delicate choker of rose gold filigree, shaped into tiny climbing vines. Nestled between the curls of metal were miniature opals that shimmered in iridescent hues—pinks, blues, and soft vender. A single teardrop-shaped morganite hung at the center, blushing gently like a secret. It was graceful and subtle—something soft-spoken, but undeniably lovely.

  Eri, of course, was instantly taken by a nature-inspired brooch set shaped like a pair of moth wings. The wings were crafted from frosted moonstone and brushed silver, with accents of peridot and amber to mimic a real insect’s glow. “Look, it’s like they’re alive,” she whispered, enchanted. “They almost feel like they’d flutter away if you touched them.”

  Cece, true to form, gravitated toward something far more eye-catching—a delicate yet striking vender amethyst choker, set in soft, brushed gold. Each gemstone was cut into slender petal shapes, forming a graceful wreath around the neck like a blooming iris kissed by morning light. A pair of dainty matching earrings, each dangling a single amethyst teardrop, rested nearby, but Cece barely spared them a gnce.

  “This,” she announced, lifting the neckce with a gleam in her eyes, “is exactly what a heroine should wear when making her grand entrance.”

  Aunt Elle chuckled softly behind her gloved hand. “I see Madame Rosewaltz’s instincts did not fail her.”

  “We’ll take everything the young dies have selected,” Aunt Elle said with a gracious smile. “And if possible, I’d also like to view some of the newer designs not currently on dispy. Would you kindly bring me the test brochures?”

  “Of course, Countess. I’ll return with them shortly,” Lady Sheree replied, offering a small curtsy before disappearing behind a velvet curtain.

  Left to ourselves, we lingered among the glittering treasures, admiring the delicate beauty of each piece. Just then, Aunt Elle’s gaze turned wistful, a soft chuckle escaping her lips.

  “I still remember when Rich commissioned my engagement ring from Rosewaltz,” she began, voice threaded with nostalgia. “He was so nervous it wouldn’t be finished in time for the proposal. The poor man practically camped outside Madame Rosewaltz’s artisan workshop in the royal capital—hovering like a lovesick ghost.”

  We leaned in, caught by the sparkle of mischief in her eyes.

  “Madame Rosewaltz was this close to tossing him out by his coattails,” Aunt Elle continued, ughing lightly. “She was torn between being utterly exasperated and genuinely touched. In the end, she had to shoo him away just to get any work done.”

  A warm smile softened her features as she paused, the memory clearly dear to her. “I never witnessed any of it myself, of course. He wanted it to be a surprise. But mind you,” she added with a pyful huff, “despite all his fussing and efforts to gather the finest materials, the ring almost wasn’t completed in time. Their master artisan fell ill midway, and it caused a terrible dey.”

  Her fingers absently brushed a nearby brooch as she spoke, her voice lowering to a mock-conspiratorial whisper. “I was this close to breaking up with him. I genuinely thought he had no intention of proposing!”

  We all burst into giggles, but Aunt Elle only smiled, her expression growing tender, her eyes shining with unspoken affection. “It all worked out in the end,” she said softly. “And honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.”

  Cece gasped dramatically, clutching her hands to her chest as if scandalized. “You almost broke up with Uncle Rich over a ring? Aunt Elle, you’re even more romantic than I thought!” she excimed, her voice brimming with theatrical disbelief.

  Aunt Elle let out a peal of ughter—light, airy, and infectious. “Oh, darling,” she said, still chuckling, “when you find the one you love, you’ll realize—true love is stitched together by countless little dramas. That’s what makes it so precious.”

  “Mommy still makes Daddy worried with her little dramas,” Eri piped up without missing a beat.

  We all ughed again, and Aunt Elle only gave her daughter a knowing, almost mischievous look.

  Curious now, I leaned closer, my eyes sparkling with excitement. “So... what did the ring look like, Aunt Elle? Was it really that special?”

  Aunt Elle’s smile softened even further, touched by a deep, fond memory. Slowly, she removed one of her gloves with a graceful pull and lifted her hand for us to see. On her ring finger, nestled atop her wedding band, gleamed a breathtaking piece—a single, fwless sapphire encircled by tiny diamonds, crafted into the delicate shape of a blooming camellia.

  “Rich knew camellias were my favorite flower,” she said wistfully, the love in her voice unmistakable.

  For a long moment, none of us spoke. We simply gazed at the ring, letting the image sink in—the sparkle of gemstones, the promise of a love story captured forever in one perfect, irrepceable piece.

  Cece, ever the romantic, was already sighing dreamily, no doubt envisioning her own dramatic love story complete with grand decrations and glittering rings.Eri, pretending to be unimpressed, crossed her arms with a little huff—but the tiny, secret smile tugging at her lips betrayed her.And me?I felt a quiet warmth bloom in my chest, a soft and wistful hope that, maybe someday, I too would have something crafted just for me—something filled with meaning, memory, and love.

  As we stepped back out into the sun-dappled streets of Rosendale Walk, our carriage den with delicate packages and shining dreams, I couldn't help but feel it — a soft, secret excitement humming in my chest.

  The tea party was drawing closer with every passing day.

  And somehow, with every dress we chose, every jewel we held, it felt less like we were preparing for an event... and more like we were weaving the beginning of a memory we would treasure forever.

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