I was standing in the middle of a garden. I’d once loved gardens. I remembered that, now. There was a gazebo behind us, covered with trailing vines and purple flowers. Roses grew in clusters upon the green bushes all around us.
A gasp of inarticulate delight escaped from me, as I looked up at the sun, the blue of the sky. Afterwards, I looked down at the spongy green grass beneath my feet. My feet were bare.
I realized I was wearing a short white tunic, belted in around my waist. It exposed my legs. I felt cold.
I looked over at Damian, who was dressed very differently. He was wearing sturdy blue pants and a white, short sleeved shirt. There was a tiny, green dragon at the right hand breast of the shirt.
“I’m dressed wrong, for where I am,” I said, slowly. I could feel my face heating up. It was bad to wear the wrong clothes in the wrong place. It could be very bad, if you wore too little. “Aren’t I?”
“Don’t worry,” Damian said, with a reassuring little smile. “The shadows are still close, so if you wish to be wearing something else, you can. Just picture what you wish to wear.”
It was a little alarming to know the shadows were still close, but I knew what to do. I closed my eyes. I pictured the clothes Damian was wearing.
Something rough was rubbing against my legs. These pants weren’t exactly comfortable. I could feel myself scowling a little. The shirt wasn’t comfortable either. It felt rough.
I looked down at my short sleeved shirt and the blue pants I now wore. They didn’t look as good on me, as they did on Damian.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a little wink. “For me, it’s a gesture of independence to wear jeans and a polo shirt, after all the ruffles and tight collars my aunt used to dress me up in. For one as small and slender as you, something softer may be better.”
I watched, as he closed his eyes. I was small and slender? I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. The way Damian said it, it sounded good. I watched him, wondering about this aunt who used to dress him up in ruffles, until I felt something soft brush against my legs. Something even softer covered my chest.
“There, just like what Aunt Duessa used to make me wear, only without the tight collar,” Damian said, with another merry wink. “The black velvet looks a lot better on you than it ever did on me.”
Black velvet? Yes, there had once been black velvet clothing. Damian released my hand. I felt a little sad at that, but I ran my hand down my new pants. They truly felt wonderful.