//CLARA//
I didn't see Casimir again after Aunt Cornelia dragged him away. I don't know how many hours I've been staring at the canopy in my room, twisting his ring, wondering what they had talked about that he never bothered to see me again.
I couldn't do another fitting. I'd lose my mind. Or worse, I'd stab someone with a seamstress pin. Preferably a man whose name started with B. Or a ghastly spider who couldn't mind her own damn business.
So I got up.
The black dress was plain, no frills, the kind of thing a maid might wear. I'd stolen it from the laundry two days ago and hidden it under my mattress like I was smuggling contraband. No corset, just a petticoat and my sturdiest boots.
I yanked my hair into a braid, pinned it flat, and called it good.
The hallway was empty. I took the servants' stairs at the back, not the main one, Aunt Cornelia's room overlooked the foyer, and that woman could smell disobedience from fifty paces.
