From Silver to Diamonds

Chapter 9

I have never gone through such painful experience in my life. I was squeezed into one of those ridiculous skin tight corsets pulled so tightly that I could hardly breathe. When the tall, slinky Italian stylist turned around to fetch something, I quickly loosen it and tied the pearl white ribbon back into a bow.

The highly laced off-the-shoulder neckline was bare, uncomfortable and very revealing. No matter how much I pull the bodice up, it always seems to fall down, which drove me crazy. What was even more insane were the carefully hand sewn on sleeves. The sleeves were made out of fine pale blue brocade and at the elbow there were a slit where layers of ruffled silk extended down over the wrist. Just below the elbow, thick pink satin ribbon with a matching baby pink bows banded around the forearms to cover the slits which was tight and was cutting off the circulation.

Next, I was forced into a matching rich blue velvet overskirt. Its mass had weighed my body down and beneath it was a long flouncy underskirt trimmed with delicate Burano lace, roses and ribbons giving the whole costume a flourishing look.

The stylish came back with more knick knacks for the sixth time and settle them down beside the rest of the trunks that she brought over earlier. She then stood back as she stared down at me. She ordered me to turn around with her heavy Italian accent. When I did what I was told, her pointer finger waved in the air as if it was a magic wand.

“Vola, Signorina bellissima!” she clapped with glee.

An elegant woman stared back at me with her feline dark green eyes; her curly auburn was pinned up with tiny silver rose pins into a retro cross rockabilly pin-up do. Over her shoulders, she was given a silky chiffon fichu, to make the neckline less exposing. She was a fine beauty as if she was stepped out of a Shakespearean play.

It was hard to believe it was me, from every angle and every perspective, the women in the mirror looked nothing like Sophie Harrison. The dress that I once thought ridiculous actually looked fine with the use of the accessories and make up that I refused to wear.

We were now few minutes on schedule, so I was told to wait in my room while the stylist and her attendants fled to the crown princess’ room with everything excess packed back into the trucks. Before the stylist closed the door behind her she warned me over and over again not to damage her magnificent “art work” then disappeared down the corridor.

Bored and restless, I carefully lowered myself on the embroidered padding of an antique chair, trying hard not ruin any of the expensive fabric, afraid of the stylist will go apes. A large porcelain vase of pink gardenias, fiery coloured roses and pale pink cornflowers were placed on the table before me. I took out a gardenia and began plucking out the petals, my mind slowly floated into space.

Recalling back the past few weeks, I remembered I spent most of my afternoon hunched over a piano and practiced till my fingers dropped. Back then, I was frustrated and annoyed with the amount of time left and as for an amateur it needs more than a month to become a professional but I managed to succeed it with the help of the sleeping demon. 

At first Andrew taught me several classical pieces and none of them were easy or either too quick for me to catch up to his level. Each time when I couldn’t meet his standards, Andrew kept threatening me that he would bail me out. That made me tear out more hair and aged faster but each time I somehow managed to make him to stay.

Then one day, Andrew had beaten me to the practice room that we usually used. He was playing the song that he composed the other week on his violin. Again, it was as beautiful as ever. Imaginary silver butterflies danced around the room and pastel coloured mists swirled in the same rhythm as the beat. When I was forced back into reality, I noticed the song was slightly different and longer than the last time I heard it.