The Girl And Her Emerald Shoes

     It was the most elegant dress he’d ever seen. As the cardboard which had been covering it fell away, the late-evening sunlight beamed through the stuffy attic and made the dress shine.

          It was gorgeous, a brilliant emerald-green with black lace matching the frills down the front, and that which came from the wrist, hem, and collar. This enchanting dress also came with an eye-catching masquerade mask, and a pair of stunning emerald-green slippers with beautiful faux rubies forming red snowflakes on the toe-end of each shoe. His step-mother, who had come up to check on his progress, made a noise between a huff and a grunt when she saw what had Luke’s attention.

          “Huh, I’d forgotten she owned that dress,” she said, “one of Mary’s favorites, if I remember right.”

          “I didn’t know Mom liked parties,” he noted, “that never came up. I thought she just enjoyed showing off.”

          His step-mother nodded, “she was always one to dance for the public eye. But this wasn’t even something I saw her wear. I first laid eyes on it when I was told it was left to me.”

          “Why did she leave it to you?”

          She glared at him then, and said “What, do you think I don’t deserve such a thing? Do you have something to say?!”

          Luke only flinched a tad. His Stepmother’s dramatic shifts in mood had always been a daily thing he’d needed to deal with since his mother passed away. They weren’t pleasant, but he continued.

          “Oh, that isn’t what I meant. I thought you said you hated dresses – since they’re hard to walk around in.”

          Her fury faded as fast as it had come on, and internally he breathed a sigh of relief. Even after ten years, it was never easy to deal with.

          “Mm. Yeah, she knew that too. But her will stipulated that it be given to me for ‘safe keeping’. Know-it-all even in death.” She huffed, irritably.

          “Safe keeping for what?”

          “Beats me,” she said, before snapping her fingers and pointing at the floor, “you missed a spot.”

          She then departed downstairs, and left Luke in the attic alone. He turned his attention back to the dress, and continued sweeping the floor idly.

 

          Throughout the day, the dress kept popping into his mind. As he cleaned and scrubbed, as he ate his meals, as he sat outside when he was given time between chores, he continued to think about that dress. He’d never seen his Mother wear it. Nor did he know what purpose it served. But he wanted something.

           Something strange, and undoubtedly forbidden by his step-mother.

          He really wanted to try it on.

          As day turned to night, Luke slipped upstairs while his sisters and step-mother slept.

          In the attic, bathed in moonlight, was that beautiful dress. He went up to it and ran his hand along the fabric. It was soft to the touch, like flower petals on smooth, harmless stems, and flowed gently against his hand.

          He briefly checked to be sure there was no movement downstairs, before closing the door to the attic. He took the dress off of its stand and pressed it against himself as he walked over to the mirror. Doing this, he admired how the outfit looked, but he felt unsatisfied in his curiosity. He took the mask and shoes from the display set, and assembled them on one of the many boxes in the attic. He made one more check that there was no activity downstairs before he locked the door and went about changing his clothes.

          The dress was rather easy to don, as it was a little loose on him. The mask was a bit tight and required a bit of adjustment before it’d sit over his eyes without pressing too hard on his forehead. Finally, he took the shoes, which fit him perfectly, and slipped them on. He then turned and approached the mirror. In the reflection, the moonlight caught the hem first. Every step drew the moonlight further up the garment, the green cloth and black frills quickly becoming dramatic with defined shadows. Soon, the light only had not reached his face. Here, he hesitated. He was unsure. Did he really want to see himself in a dress? Some part of him worried that it was wrong, that the choice would offend his eyes and hurt his spirits.

          But the temptation lingered. As he stood there, staring at the mostly-lit reflection, he found himself to be far more curious, and even excited, rather than scared. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped forward.

          To his surprise, it was the mask which caught his attention first, when he deemed to see again. Soon, though, the full picture came together, and he was amazed and startled.

          A beautiful woman was staring back at him out of the mirror. She had short, shoulder-length brown hair, light pink lips, and skin as pale as the moonlight. She wore a long, elegant Victorian dress and a beautiful green mask which completed the whole ensemble. He soon realized she was smiling, and felt his own face, watching as the woman’s hand also drifted to her own lips. They bowed experimentally, then curtsied together. He could see her eyes shining behind her mask. They stepped together left, then right, backwards, and forwards. They did a little spin and watched the skirt flow as it spun outward. He then walked up to the mirror, meeting the girl at the reflection. He stared out from behind his mask through hers, and into her eyes. His mind filled and drifted from thought to thought, and he pressed his hand against the mirror, against hers.

          Soon, she found herself comforted by her reflection. She did not know for why this would be the case, but in such comfort, she began walking the floor of the attic, and began to imagine the life she could have lived.

          “Oh! Thank you, Sir Reginald Broomstick!” She said to the brush-headed colonel of the cleaning brigade, “It is a lovely dress indeed, a gift from my late mother, you see!” Her voice took on a posh, queenly quality. She took his hand gracefully when offered, and they began to dance among the dusty party-goers of the attic, weaving and swaying before trading off with Ms. Balsa Mannequin, and twirling with her too.

        The shoes tapped elegantly, the mask made her an unquestionable beauty. In the moonlight and the dusty attic she whirled and spun and cheered and swung. It was an elegant ball, a great adventure, a beautiful night.

          The girl in the green mask and green shoes laughed and played all night long. All too soon, the sun rose. She returned to a fanciful mask in the mirror, and he at once began putting the secrets of his night’s excursion away. He put the dress, mask, and shoes back, and reclaimed his button-up and dusty apron, before unlocking the attic door and heading downstairs.

          The last thing he wanted to have at this hour would be another domestic argument, so he went off to his bedroom to get what little sleep he could before the day began.