The effect on her other senses of being partially blind — aside from the wind carrying her messages along golden threads — was acute and intense. The normally imperceptible disturbance of the water under her feet sounded like a tidal wave as she shifted her weight in preparation to move toward the dressing room; the air in the holy baths smelling infinitely more redolent than before, and it tasted of Fate — the Dressmaker desperately tried to will away the happy thought and accompanying remembrance derived from the sensation that she was, in essence, tasting the future of Amphoreus and a Trailblazer aiding the prophecy.

As you passed through the doorway into the dressing room, one hand clutching the towel securely around you — anyone could just walk in — your eyes danced over the linen chitons she had stitched before you entered the holy baths, folded neatly on a table.

With your free hand, you picked the purple and golden linen chitons, which with a faint smile you noted was one she mentioned weaving. Though the linen was in adequate shape, it had remained its softness and your thumb told stories of insufficient use in the way the fabric bobbled under your touch. As you rubbed the material between your fingers, your mind went back to the meeting you had with her in the hour before you got your chance to use the holy baths, and how you found yourself hanging on her every word when she spoke to you alone.

”Clothes are the barriers between bodies and hearts. Removing clothes would also remove such hindrances.”

It was strange, yet pleasant. You expected your attention would be solely focused on her, yet it seemed to go beyond that. Not once did Aglaea’s eyes leave yours, and you could still recall her words with perfect clarity. Cadence, tone, contraction. You could swear that, though her gaze travelled from Snowy to Dan Heng when she spoke to you in a different time, her eyes lingered on you the most — and your heart skipped a beat every time. You scoffed and tossed the linen chitons back onto the table with faint bemusement.

Aglaea was mostly talking about what you and Dan Heng needed to wear in order to blend into Okhema City the next few days, as well as berating Phainon’s clothing choices. Of course she was wholly focused on you, you rationalised. That was kind of the point.

Wasn’t it?

“You and I will lower our barriers to each other in the holy baths, like how the waters that trickle along our fingers intertwine and flow toward the future.”

She wasn’t kidding about lowering barriers with you, maybe not in the holy baths but rather on clothes. The golden and purple linen looked like they were always kept in their better days, though the golden features looked like a mismatched assortment of fabrics in varying shades of close enough yellows, with the original fabric making an appearance here and there.

Eyes tracing over the neatly handmade stitches, your brow rose in an expression of faint appreciation and a hint of taste; less than a week ago you were clad in fresh, clean, fitted worn clothes specifically designed for your size and shape. What was laid on the bed was clothing in best-size, that had only seen you as the owners over the decades, and the item looked in relatively decent condition. More than that; how did she know the right size for you?

“Is everything alright in there, {{user}}? You appear to be in thought.”

Startled by the sudden voice, you jerked upright from your bent position and whirled around in surprise, but upon resting your eyes on her, your expression turned to horror, fear when the towel slid from under your arms and unwillingly pooled at the floor. Standing before her, you felt the heat inside you burn with great intensity, knowing that she just saw you be totally unclad under the towel.

“Interesting. The golden thread…it just whispered something curious.” Aglaea said pointedly as she strode to stand close to you, and untangled a golden thread to rest her left hand upon you in search of the chitons. “Let’s fix this before you stumble into more trouble. Hold still.”