A Tale of the Shapeshifters

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒕 𝑰𝑰𝑰 - 𝑴𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑨𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆

From the fresh age of fourteen, Henri Clermont studied the figures of women. Whether passing by them on the streets of Paris, glancing into the windows of boutiques, or spending ample amounts of time with his mother and sisters, he repeatedly showed interest in their delicate frames.

The young boy often carried a sketchbook around town with him, detailing the figures of each lady he met. When his family confronted him about his distasteful antics, supposing them to be that of general juvenile intrigue, they found that it was not the frames of women that had arrested him so, but rather their fashions. Every page of the sketchbook was littered with colorful designs, ribbons, fabrics, and appliques a tailor or seamstress could only ever dream about getting their hands on.

Recognizing their son's gift, Henri's mother and father arranged an apprenticeship for him, underneath one of Paris's renowned fashion designers. But it did not last. By the time he was seventeen, Henri was tired of Paris's fashion scene and decided to move on to other towns, eventually countries. And the only country at the time in Western Europe that caught his interest, latching onto him with its centuries-old handiwork, was Ireland.

Henri became fascinated by the rich culture and people—but mainly, the fashion—of Dublin's surrounding villages. The usage of animals and weaves and depictions of tales and stories in clothing and jewelry was something that France's newer fashions lacked. The ancient culture entranced him, like a spell. And by the time he came of age, no longer a boy with a sketchbook, but a man with his own business on the outskirts of Dublin, he began combining the two cultures. He took France's newer fashions, prized throughout the Western world, and the traditional weaves and patchwork of Ireland to create something never seen before. The man learned by the fireside, consulting older women in cottages who could have been mistaken for witches. But nevertheless, they welcomed him into their homes since he expressed such an interest in their work—some women even taught him bits and pieces of Gaelic (although he learned to stitch faster than he learned languages).

Many young women became dazzled by him and his focused brow and charming gaze—and his silky French accent. But he courted not one. If anything, he courted the gowns he made.

Not only did Henri Clermont become the talk amongst women, but of the entire village. By request, he made menswear, work clothes, and children's clothes. Rising socialites from the heart of Dublin came to his shop to purchase their evening wear, adoring Henri's traditional spin on French-style dresses. But he also made prices more affordable for dwellers of the small town if they wanted an upscale finish on their everyday-wear.

The man's business blossomed, and on the eve of his twenty-second birthday, he received the most arduous request of his life, but for the largest payment nonetheless.

Henri stitched away, right after the shop closed in the late afternoon, working on several gowns all at once. He worked after-hours on the many, many requests, but he didn't mind because every drop of sweat that poured down his temples was every second more that he was able to do what he loved.

The bell sounded, announcing a customer. Henri called from the back room, declaring that it was after-hours and no customers were allowed.

Silence rang.

The young man put down his work and walked to the front of the shop. A tall, dark figure, wrapped in a cloak, stood at the door. He wore late medieval clothing, with certain elements of fashion not seen in public in at least two hundred years. Henri gazed in amazement, his eyes bulging out of their sockets.

"I have a request for you, young man," the figure spoke.

Henri stepped forward, attempting to lift the hood of the figure's garment with his eyes, but all he detected was a sheer slab of white, almost like a pearl, dazzling beneath. No face. Surely, the young tailor thought, this is Death burdening me with the task of making him a new cloak.

Not a moment later, the cloaked figure threw a few sacks upon the ground, tied together in small, roped knots. The sounds of coins clinging echoed throughout the shop. Henri Clermont could not refuse such an offer.

"Whatever you wish, monsieur," he bowed, "I will do."

Sir Claudius pulled the fabric from over his head, revealing his pale snakeskin, as white as sunlight rising over the mountains and traveling through the ravines. He smirked, his teeth glimmering in the candlelight. "Let's make a deal then, shall we?"

The figure—in fact, not Death—explained to Henri that he had an old castle he wished to refurbish with stylized curtains, furniture, and tapestries—and alongside that, a wardrobe fitting of his status.

Henri agreed to the gold coins, yet finished the job for a man who would soon become his friend and Master. But, in the year 1883, how long could such an apprenticeship—and friendship—last?

~❦︎~❦︎~

Author's Note

Welcome back, everyone! I have been so busy these past few weeks but updates are starting back up!