Letter No.8

Stolas, my dearest,

The moment my assistant called me about Stella's dress being ready, you can't even imagine how mad I got. I immediately rushed to the saloon to take care of the dress. Not in the usual, call the client, give them their dress kind of way. I wanted to take it to a dark alley and cut it up into small pieces or burn it, so there would be nothing left of it. Not even a clue that a dress ever existed on that hanger. But the moment before I could've touched the flame of my precious silver-coated lighter to the edge of the smooth silk skirt, I changed my mind. This dress was one of my most expensive artworks. Yes, it was an artwork. I had to think of my sister as a client. Not as someone who took the love of my life away from me. It was very hard. But I had to try. In case I'd ruin her gown, I wouldn't ever make it again. And I know she would never forgive me for "losing" her one and only wedding dress. She would ask me to make it again, or make an other one - for free, of course.

After I put the dress away, in the back of our orders' closet, I told my assistant that they should call Stella to arrange an appointment for her to come and try on the bridal gown. She of course had to take the whole family with her, so that afternoon all of my family members tried to squeeze into the tiny showroom to see Stella in that huge, fluffy, but elegantly beautiful dress. It was unique for sure. Some family members started crying as she stepped out from behind the curtains of the changing room. She almost started crying too. The dress was perfect. But she didn't want to ruin her makeup, nor wanted the family to see her crying. She didn't even have a thought about tears, and makeup mixed with tears ruining her brand new, carefully handmade dress. This made my previous thoughts come back to life. What if a few buckets of different coloured paints accidentally fell on her dress? Or what if some crazy, stoned little imps accidentally scratched the dress to pieces overnight? What if her dress accidentally stayed outside during a huge storm, soaking all layers of fabric and ruining it? One family member started to talk to me, so I had to try to focus my thoughts to be able to listen and reply. I still had a day with the dress in the store, since Stella couldn't take it home with her, so she asked our transporters to deliver it to her tomorrow. After the family left, I kept thinking of ways to ruin my artwork that whole day. When the last client for the day left, I sent my assistant home too. I closed the shop and turned off the lights in the front. I kept a headlight on, in the showroom, to only enlighten my sister's dress. I sat there in the dark, "eye to eye" with that huge white artwork. I was thinking... Maybe I could try to remove one layer carefully to make it less fluffy, less cotton-candy like. Or to make the top see-through. Maybe she would've even liked that option though. She's never been that good girl type. I almost started to cut one of the threads holding one layer to the other, when someone started knocking on the store's window. I carefully switched the spotlight off, and tip-toed to the front room, in the shadows. I could see your always glowing scarlet eyes desperately searching for a living soul inside. I didn't want to open the door for you this time. I was too hurt. I was emotionally overwhelmed. I could not talk to you that evening, when I was ready to make a move to destroy your fiancée's dress. I just quietly watched you knocking again and again, waiting for someone to answer. But I did not. I was already in tears by the time you gave up. Your eyes' glow let me know that you felt very sad too, before you left. I had no idea what you wanted, but I knew you'd never show up at my workplace before notifying me first. I just kept thinking about the reason of your visit. I even forgot about Stella's dress. I just left it there, in the middle of the showroom and grabbed my stuffs. I remembered I had a hoodie of yours hidden somewhere in the shop, so I looked for that and put it on, to hide myself in that oversized, yet precious mess. I walked home, like a stupid high-schooler wearing their boyfriend's hoodie. I don't know why it felt so good to hide in such a casual piece of clothing, but I did it anyways.

When I arrived to my castle, the guards didn't want to let me in, since they knew I'd never wear a hoodie in public, on purpose. But when they successfully identified my royal self, they apologised and walked me to the entrance. I went to the kitchen to cry my thoughts out to my chef. They listened and promised to keep everything a secret. What happens in the kitchen, stays in the kitchen. They told me that I should've at least listened to what you wanted, so I'll think about it. Maybe I'll ask for the reason of your visit when I see you again.

I miss you, my flaming crimson-eyed demon prince!

With all my heart,
Andrealphus ❄️