欧美最猛性视频另类

I backtrack a little bit. “I mean... I don’t want you to tell the Empress I don’t like the dresses. Because then she will be sad and I don’t like making people sad.”

I pout for good measure and Marie’s face softens at my cuteness.

“Oh your highness, you are too kind! A saint of a child!” she crows happily. I’m the furthest thing from a saint, but Marie is patting my chubby cheeks lovingly so I soak up all the affection. Emma just stares incredulously at the scene, also doubting my status as a holy figure. But Marie calling me a saint reminds me how important the Spring Ball will be for me to claim my status as the promised child the Holy Church prophesized would bring great fortune to the Empire.

First impressions matter and I ponder over qualities that a supposed saint among men would have. Patient. Humble. Generous. I look over at the trashy gowns and slightly shake my head. Jesus take the wheel! There is no way I’m going to give off such an impression with that kind of dress.

“Marie,” I say, interrupting the love fest. “Bring me some scissors.” She is startled but quickly retrieves a pair from a drawer in my vanity.

I crack my knuckles and stretch my fingers before rummaging through the dresses like sheets of paper. The wastes of fabric fly over my shoulder when I encourage one I disapprove of, creating a sizeable pile on the floor. Emma approaches slowly, like a lion stalking its prey, before jumping onto the fluffy pile.

“Off, off, quickly!” Marie scolds, appalled to see Emma treat the trashy dresses like a pile of leaves. In my heart, a pile of leaves is more worthwhile than these gowns.

.....

“It’s fine, Marie,” I say distractedly, still carefully analyzing the dresses. A bright orange color, like the skin of an orange, fills my eyes and I have to swallow down the bile in my throat.

Initially, I had thought that idling my early years in the tiny room of Bianca’s shack did not add anything to my short list of unusual talents. However, as I now that I appraise these dresses, I see that the stay with my aunt did leave with one strong suit. Fashion.

In my past life, I was a typical tomboy, neither obnoxiously scorning feminine nor embracing it with open arms. I didn’t come from money so a good portion of my clothes were second hand, dug up from bins in Goodwill over the years. I was a jeans and t-shirt girl through and through, forgetting makeup entirely unless there was a special occasion.

But at least I was always clean. People could call me plain, but they couldn’t call me dirty or poor, not to my face. Halle, the cliche opposite to my unextravagant self, eventually forced me to buy some “cute” clothes to show off my assets, yet even then I never paid attention to what she chose as long as the price was low.

Opening my eyes in Clara’s world, I was crammed in a room with all of Bianca’s clothes and barely any forms of entertainments. What else could I do but entertain myself with mindless hours of dress-up when Bianca was too busy to come see me? If I was lucky, I’d stumble on the occasional fashion magazine she had stuffed in her purse and read 10, then 100 times, about what trends were picking up steam in the capital and what was “terribly last season”. Bianca was careful with her wardrobe choices, opting to spend her money on new dresses every season so she would remain popular with her clients. And after observing my aunt for these years, I’m proud to say I’ve accumulated a latent interest in all things style-related.

“Yes!” I say to myself, finally unearthing a velvet dress that was a decent indigo blue color. It was so dark it almost looked black, only shimmering its proper color when I pulled it out of the shadowed armoire into the light. This would stand out nicely on the pasty, pale skin I’ve unfortunately acquired in this world.

“This is it!” I say, proudly turning around to face Marie and Emma, who have raptly been watching reject dress after dress.

Their faces are still confused as they see my choice. There is a horrible swatch of shimmery green fabric arching over the front that horrifically clashes the color. Lighter blue ribbons cover the skirt and the long sleeves are wide enough to hide a dead body, dragging on the floor as I suspend the dress in my hands.

Emma finally speaks, her words short. “‘Tis ugly.”

I nod.

“But you want to wear that, your highness?”

I nod again. She raises her eyebrows but doesn’t say anything else, looking more like a disapproving parent than my friend. Ah yes, I suppose we are real friends now, as I feel as comfortable in her presence as I have in Marie’s. My chest stirs with good feelings and I assure Emma some more so she can remove the look of concern from her young face.

“Marie, the scissors?” Marie wordlessly hands them to me and I lay the dress flat on the bed.

I feel like a surgeon about to perform a critical surgery and I hold my breath as I make the first cut. Snip. Part of the green fabric tumbles free from the dress. I hear a sharp intake of breath behind me.

“Your highness, you can’t do this! To defile a gift from the empress...” Marie trails off after she exclaims loudly, her hands nervously wringing. I pause the operation of completely freeing the unwanted fabric from the dress and comfort my nursemaid.

“Don’t worry, Marie. I will take all responsibility if anything should happen,” I say.

Freeing every piece of fabric and ribbon from the dress takes time, but before an hour has gone by, my dress is complete. Without its embellishments, it appears far more plain than anyone else’s will probably be. But I think back to the good, first impression I want to give and feel satisfied with my creation. Such a simple dress, wouldn’t one be prone to believe that Empress Katya isn’t inclined to spend any money on me?

I shake the dress free of its scraps and marvel at my work.

“Why did you cut the dress into pieces, your highness?” Marie asked.

I think of the best way to simplify my intentions.

“In a sea of roses, a simple daisy will stand out,” I assure her.

Both Emma and Marie nod in agreement.

“Clever, very clever, your highness!” Marie sings out praises as she claps.

Emma begins to fiddle with the scraps lying on my bed and turns to look at the pile of discarded dresses in front of the armoire.

“But what of those dresses?” Emma pointed at the pile of clothes she had been playing in minutes before.

I think back to my Goodwill days with a dangerous smirk that looks out of place on my baby face.

“Why we’ll sell it, of course.” I’m sure the Empress is responsible for my tiny stipend, thus I will take responsibility for her by selling these dresses she so kindly delivered to me.

Mary gasps, Emma maintains her blank expression. I have yet to see something truly ruffle the small child.

“Your highness, you can’t! To sell a gift from the empress, that is... that is...” Marie gasps out, looking like she is about to keel over. She leans a hand on one of the tall posts of my bed, staring at the pile of dresses in horror.

“How much will these sell for, Emma?” I ask, ignoring my poor nursemaid’s plight. Although terribly ugly, the fabric and make of the 12 or so dresses are not bad, deliberately highlighting that the empress intentionally asked the designers to create something hideous.

All this while, I’ve been furiously thinking of how to make money when I’m trapped in a palace and stuck in a world where it’s a bit unusual for noblewomen to work. I’m not one to throw such a good opportunity away.

Emma licked her lips hungrily at the thought of money.

“Enough, your highness.”

I want to ask what Emma qualifies as enough, but with the insatiable way she has been eating up my small stipend in exchange for information, it should be a healthy amount to hold me for a while.

I begin folding the dresses on the floor, causing Marie to make a fuss about how my identity was too noble to do such a thing. I let out a small huff of amusement. I truly don’t mind folding on my own, but I appreciate Marie truly respected me as a princess. Soon enough, everyone will. I owe that much to Winter after waking up in her life like this.

In quick haste, the two of us fold down the pile of dresses in a neat stack and tie them into a nondescript fabric. This unassuming package now looks like the knapsacks old peddlers carry their wares in, something one’s eyes would naturally skip over it they noticed it.

“Emma,” I instruct. “do you know where to sell these dresses for the highest price?”

She nods, busy tying the package around her body so it would be easy to carry.

“I’m trusting you right now. Remember, the more coins this sells for, the more I can give you.” I say enticingly, playing on her money-hungry side.

A certain glee fills her eyes at the word ‘coins’ and she wastes no time rushing for the door. A thought occurs to me right before Emma slams the door shut behind her, prompting me to call for her loudly.

“Emma!”

She turns around to face me, the package looking oversized when wrapped around her 7-year-old body.

I flick my last couple of coins at her with a grin.

“Buy me some pretty flowers and then something for yourself with the rest of the money.”

“I will nay let you down, your highness.” she promises, shutting the door softly behind her with a click.