"…He once told me that his work is professional," Tamsin continued, her hands moving now with newfound confidence—open palms, steady sweeps, as though she were defending something sacred. "He is the only one who can do it."
I reached out and caught her hands in mine, stilling them gently. She paused mid-gesture; our eyes locked—hers wide and earnest, mine steady with quiet concern.
"Alright, calm down," I said softly. "Next time he comes, you better ask my questions and actually get the answers I'm looking for."
I pointed a finger at her in friendly mock sternness, then softened it with a small smile.
"Also, I need to meet him."
Tamsin listened to every word, nodding earnestly, a shy smile breaking through as gentle pink bloomed across her cheeks again. A soft giggle escaped her—light, relieved, affectionate.
"Understood," she murmured.
Understood? I was still doubting the guy—deeply—and I wasn't sure she fully grasped how serious I was. But she looked so happy in that moment, so trusting, that I let it slide for now.
We continued the conversation, drifting off topic as girls do: how annoying boys could be, their vanishing acts, their confusing signals, the way they made everything feel bigger than it should. All the while, I kept trying on pieces from Mother Elowen's closet—slipping into skirts that hung too long, blouses that draped loosely over my shoulders, laughing at the mismatched results while Tamsin offered gentle suggestions between giggles, her earlier fluster fading into easy companionship.
Sometimes I look back and realize I was a man once—a thirty-two-year-old man, fully grown, hardened by years and secrets. And now here I am: sixteen, unmistakably a girl, as girly as the ribbons and ruffles allow, whining about boys like any other teenager. I'm genuinely glad for it—glad I can finally be myself without the weight of pretending. It's strange, yes, but it feels right. How can someone reliving their life still behave so childishly, so girlishly? I don't have an answer. I just… do.
After trying on several mismatched combinations—dresses layered over skirts, different-colored corsets cinched and loosened, fabrics pooling around my feet like defeated dreams—my brain finally cooked up something workable.
"Gowns are bigger, but that doesn't matter," I announced, eyes lighting with sudden inspiration. "I can just stuff them in under the corset."
Tamsin gave me that look—the one that silently screamed Are you dumb?—but she kept the words locked behind her lips, polite to a fault.
"But wouldn't that make the corset impossibly tight and weird around the waist?" she asked casually, tilting her head.
I stepped closer, grabbing her shoulders to hold her gaze. She paused, waiting, then answered her own question with quiet confidence.
"Of course it will make the corset and waist look weird. But I have the right thing in mind to fix it."
My brain served up another questionable idea, bright and reckless. I spun around, eyes hunting for one specific gown I'd tried earlier. There it was—the red long gown, slightly old-fashioned, its waist and midsection plain and understated, lacking the elaborate embroidery of newer pieces.
I lifted it carefully and laid it flat across the bed, smoothing the fabric as I began mentally restructuring it. Then I reached back into the closet for another: a shorter red gown with a daring high slit and delicate white ruffles along the edges. I draped it over the longer one, letting the shorter piece sit like an overlay.
"See—this one is short and revealing," I said, pointing with my finger. "That's probably why Mother Elowen doesn't wear it anymore. But it's beautiful in a simple way."
Tamsin leaned in, eyes fixed on the gown, absorbing every detail. I slid my finger across to the longer piece beneath.
"And this one is long, a little plain in the middle."
I shifted my gaze to her face. Tamsin met my eyes and smiled—small, knowing, the corners of her mouth lifting as understanding dawned.
"So~ your plan is to wear them together," she finished for me, voice soft but sure. "The longer one on the bottom, the short one layered on top. So they complement each other."
We exchanged meaningful gazes—silent, sparkling, the kind that needed no words. Tamsin crossed her arms, a small, appreciative smile tugging at her lips as she took in the vision I'd laid out.
"Yes! You got it," I said, grinning wide. "This works because they share the same shade of red, and the fabrics are light enough to layer without looking bulky. It'll still feel heavy, though."
I pointed to the waist of the shorter gown, fingers tracing the high slit and delicate white ruffles as fresh ideas bubbled up.
"And I think we can add some ribbons or golden clipper chains right over here," I continued, tapping the spot. "It will look adorable… Ammmmm…"
My voice trailed off as my brain spun through possibilities—more embellishments, subtle draping, perhaps a touch of lace to soften the edges—each one more stunning than the last. But after three solid ideas in quick succession, my mind simply… stalled. Creative lightning had struck and now it needed to recharge.
Tamsin moved to the table where we'd stacked the corsets in a colorful pile. She rifled through them for a moment, then pulled out one with a bold red-and-white pattern that perfectly echoed the gowns' tones. She turned to me, eyes bright with unfiltered excitement.
"If you've really made up your mind," she said, holding the corset up like a trophy, "can you try it out now?"
Finally—finally—Tamsin was acting from her heart, not caution. She had stolen the words right out of my mouth. We both nodded at the same instant, a shared spark igniting between us.
Then we proceeded to my favorite part: dressing up.
A few moments later I found myself pinned face-down against the bed, Tamsin's foot planted firmly in the small of my back. She gripped the laces of the corset and yanked them tight, forcing the stuffed layers of the longer gown to compress beneath the rigid boning. We had searched for another way—any gentler method—but nothing else would hold. The corset clung to my waist like vengeance itself, squeezing, unyielding, molding me into a new shape whether I liked it or not.
"Alright," Tamsin warned, voice steady but laced with caution, "I'm going to pull it real hard this time and tie it up. You sure you can handle it?"
I turned my head just enough to meet her eyes, then let my body go slack against the soft sheets, surrendering completely to the moment.
"Do it!"
She pulled.
The laces sang as they drew inward; her foot pressed harder to anchor me while the corset cinched mercilessly. I felt every inch compress—ribs narrowing, waist carving inward—until the garment became a second layer of skin, more like a rigid shell than fabric. Breath shallowed, but not enough to panic. She knotted the laces with quick, practiced efficiency, then stepped off the bed.
I pushed myself upright slowly, movements mechanical and deliberate. Walking felt strange—stiff, upright, every shift of my hips threatening to make the whole structure squeeze tighter. My waist was locked in place; I could barely bend. But I could breathe—shallow, controlled, enough. Anything to look good.
I turned toward Tamsin, steps careful and measured, and gestured to the exaggerated hourglass now carved into my silhouette.
"See? This looks weird around the waist, just like I said." I smoothed a hand over the visible bulge of the layered gown beneath. "Now we put the shorter gown on top and tie it with the corset."
Tamsin nodded eagerly and scooped up the shorter gown, the red fabric whispering as she shook out the high slit and white ruffles. She helped me step into it, guiding the hem over my feet and easing it up my legs until it settled over the longer gown beneath. The layered waist—once so awkward and bulky—disappeared completely under the overlay. The shorter piece draped perfectly, masking the odd compression. The weight increased instantly; the combined fabrics clung and pulled with every small shift, a luxurious heaviness that made me feel both anchored and regal.
Tamsin stepped back, eyes widening as she took me in. Her face bloomed into a wide, open-mouthed smile; one hand flew up to cover it in delighted disbelief.
"Ohh my gosh… this just looks so—"
She couldn't finish. Caught in the rush of excitement, she let out a string of bright giggles, bouncing on her toes. Before I could fully adjust the gown or steady myself against the unfamiliar constriction, she darted behind me and placed gentle hands on my shoulders, pushing me lightly forward.
"Wait—be careful, it's hard to move—"
My protest came half-hearted, worry flickering about the dress's stability, the corset's unyielding grip. But Tamsin was already guiding me toward the full-length mirror on the far wall, her touch careful yet insistent, her giggles bubbling behind me.
When we reached it and I lifted my gaze, everything else fell away.
It was me.
The two gowns blended seamlessly, as though they had always belonged together. The longer red base flowed to my feet in elegant, unbroken lines, while the shorter high-slit overlay added delicate movement—white ruffles cascading like soft curtains. And the corset… it was perfect. Cinched tight, it carved an hourglass silhouette that felt both foreign and utterly right. The whole ensemble shimmered under the room's soft light: princess-like, bold yet graceful, a creation born of improvisation and sheer will.
I stared, breath shallow from the corset and from wonder, seeing not just a dress but a version of myself I had only dreamed of.