The Sorcerers of Infinity/16

seventeenth chapter
Matti's Design

The morning two days after Tarja had blown apart the door to one of Van Mara Citadel’s sitting rooms, she finally decided to go and eat breakfast. She had not been inside her room for two days brooding over and stewing in her own fury; rather, she was trying desperately to decipher more of that strange glowing vase that had been given to her by the Gods. In futility and in growing irritation, she had pored over the two parchment sheets again and again and again, but never found a coherent answer. She decided, that at breakfast, she would need to talk with Matti about it.

When Tarja arrived at the stairs, she decided suddenly out of vanity to change something. She quickly returned to her room and slipped out of her customary crimson overcoat, leaving her only in her leather corset and slacks of the same black material.

“This simply will not do today,” Tarja mumbled disapprovingly about her overcoat. She cast it aside onto her bed, fleeting over toward the dresser. She leafed quickly through the three robes inside it; all were of the same cut, but came in red, gold or pearly white. Tarja chose the pearly white one, staring at it critically. Slowly, it started to shift and change in her hands.

The sleeves became shorter and more voluminous. The bottom of the dress grew shorter until it was only at waist-length. And then the edges of the fabric suddenly became frilled. Pleased with it and herself, Tarja put it on.

“Perfection!” she squealed delightedly, and she turned to go to breakfast. She caught a glimpse of herself in her mirror, however, and stopped dead in her tracks. “My hair is absolutely dead,” she remarked clinically. She sat back down in her chair and waved her hands around her head. The black strands came alive and started rearranging themselves on her head.

Soon, they became curled.

“No!” Tarja said disgustedly. She waved her hands around again.

It became shorter, and slightly less curled.

“Hideous!” she shuddered.

Her hair became wavier, and even longer than it was before. The reflection staring back at her in the mirror was a horrified and ugly one. Tarja waved her hands again.

Her hair soon became slightly wavy, and took on a layered look. It was slightly past her shoulders and out of the way of her forehead. It seemed to shimmer from the inside out, and instantly it took on a shy golden tint.

“You,” she said to herself smilingly; “are a beautiful woman.” Everything looked perfect—her hair, her clothes, and her face—

Her face. Tarja slowly and tentatively touched two fingers to the porcelain mask that would forever adorn her face and hide the scarring. She almost felt the flames sear her skin once again. Tarja shuddered—the pain was only a distant, ugly memory that she could not allow to hinder the present.

“Lady Vattiksi,” a maid at the door called in, accompanied with a light knock. “Your brother Lord Vattiksi is expecting you at the breakfast table. They’ve just started eating.”