“I’ll remember the ball for the rest of my life,” Journey said. “It’ll cheer me up while I’m flipping burgers or telemarketing or selling shoes or whatever I end up doing in America.”
The thought of those jobs depressed her. Locked up in a room, probably in some dull suburb with rent she could afford, socking away every spare cent for years until she’d finally earned enough money to go backpacking again... Ugh!
Maybe she could get a job as a traveling salesperson. Or a taxi driver. Anything to stay on the move, even if it was only within a single town.
With a final wave and whistle to the parakeets, Journey hefted her ash bucket and went back inside the Florescu house. As always, she paused to admire the carved wooden door. It was a Brandusan tradition that she especially admired. Every household had a door carved with something associated with the family that lived in it. Even the poorest homes carved their own with whatever level of skill they could manage— which was always impressive to Journey’s untutored eyes, for woodworking was a skill that every child learned.
The Florescu door was carved with twining roses. Every leaf and petal was intricately detailed, some complete with fuzzy bees or drops of dew. No matter how often Journey looked at it, she always found some new detail to enjoy. Today she spotted a tiny butterfly, wings folded and thread-thin proboscis extended, half-hidden by petals as it drank from a rose. She sighed with admiration.
“We will be very sorry to lose you, Journey,” said Mrs. Florescu. The plump, middle-aged woman smiled as she walked up. “I’ve so enjoyed seeing how much you appreciate our culture. I wish I’d been able to find another family for you to work for.”
“I know you tried. I really appreciate it.”
“Normally, it wouldn’t be hard. But right now everyone’s worried about money. It’s because of the new trade treaty with Viorel that will be sealed with Prince Lucas’s engagement— many people think it will benefit Viorel at the expense of Brandusa. You see, the former tax agreement...” Mrs. Florescu broke off with a laugh. “Never mind. I shouldn’t bore you with politics when you have a ball gown to find! Go wash up, then meet me in the attic.”
Journey replaced the ash bucket by the fireplace and took a quick bath, then eagerly went up the winding stairs and into the attic. Mrs. Florescu was already there, opening carved trunks bound with brass and pulling out gowns and undergarments and shoes. She had set up a lovely full-length mirror for Journey to look at herself under the shaft of golden sun from the skylight.
Mrs. Florescu examined Journey’s body, then nodded in satisfaction. “Very good! You have the body of a proper Brandusan girl. Big belly to withstand hard winters, wide hips to bear children easily, and good plump breasts to nurse babies and please your husband!”
Journey laughed, enjoying Mrs. Florescu’s frankness. “I wish I was a Brandusan girl! The proper American body has slim hips to wriggle into designer jeans, a flat belly to look good in a bikini, and big fake breasts made out of silicone.”
Mrs. Florescu made a face. “False breasts! Who thinks of such things? No, it will be easy to find clothing that will be lovely on your figure. It is only your hair that is unusual for Brandusa.”
“It’s unusual in the US, too.” Journey looked in the mirror. The sunlight fell directly on her wild tumble of red curls, making them glow like flames.
“The royal family is the same way,” Mrs. Florescu remarked, sorting through gowns. “Prince Lucas has golden hair, and his promised, Princess Raluca, has hair of silver. It is the mark of the dragon.”
Journey smiled to herself. Out of everything in Brandusa, perhaps what she loved the best was the legend that the royal family did not merely have the dragon as their sigil, but could actually transform into dragons. When she had first arrived, she had thought that people who mentioned it were being metaphoric or poetic, but she had eventually realized that they sincerely believed it. Journey had traveled enough to know that every culture had their own beliefs that seemed strange to people from other cultures— Americans included. So she never argued or expressed disbelief. Besides, she loved the idea that the king and queen flew invisibly over the city every night, ensuring that all was well.
“Maybe someone will mistake me for a princess,” Journey suggested, grinning. “I could be a ruby dragon!”
Mrs. Florescu shook her head, as if that was a perfectly reasonable possib
ility that merely happened to be incorrect. “Dragons are very slim. It is because flying requires so much energy.”
Journey would have loved to coax her for more details on the royal dragons, but Mrs. Florescu held up a handful of undergarments instead. “Here, put these on.”
Unselfconsciously, Journey stripped down to her panties, then let Mrs. Florescu help her into a corset. It wasn’t uncomfortable— in fact, it provided good back support. It also lifted and supported her breasts, pushing them together to make her cleavage even more impressive than usual. Then she put on several layer of petticoats, clean and rustling and scented with dried roses, and after that a white undergown with a tight bodice and long embroidered sleeves.
Finally, Mrs. Florescu helped her into a long dress, then turned her around to look into the mirror. “There!”
The sleeveless gown was leaf-green, making her eyes and hair look even brighter and giving a flattering cast to her freckled skin. The full skirt ended at her ankles, sparing her the worry of being able to dance in it. The neckline was very low-cut, showing off her cleavage. It had crisscross green lacing down the front, allowing the white undergown bodice to show through.
But her favorite part was what made Brandusan traditional dress distinctive: the undergown sleeves. They were embroidered with crimson roses on green vines, as delicately detailed as the roses carved into the front door. The vines twined up her arms and over her shoulders, as if she was decked in living flowers.
“Thank you so much,” Journey breathed. “You’re so kind, Mrs. Florescu.”
“I knew it would suit you,” said Mrs. Florescu, seeming pleased with her own judgment. She picked up a pair of shoes, and said, “Shoes last. If you’re not used to them, it will be difficult to climb stairs.”
They walked down to Stefania’s room and knocked on the door.
“Come!” Stefania called.
They went inside. Mrs. Florescu and Journey had already helped Stefania dress and do her hair and makeup, before Journey had finished her last chores. Stefania wasn’t quite as curvy (and often remarked enviously on Journey’s figure), but her crimson gown showed off the curves she did have. She too wore a white undergown embroidered with red roses. With her black hair braided and pinned atop her head, her pale skin, and her full scarlet lips, she reminded Journey of Snow White.
Stefania gave Journey a delighted smile. “Oh, you’re so pretty! Perhaps you’ll meet a rich Brandusan man, and then you can marry and never leave. And perhaps I will meet another!”
Mrs. Florescu gave her daughter a stern look before turning to Journey. “She is not to be alone with any man. She is still too young. You need not stick close together in the ballroom, but she is not to go into any side rooms without you.”