---
But no one answered Eileen.
Everyone just watched, eyes wide open, and froze.
Eileen immediately lowered her gaze.
She had shown her face because she hated it when they argued because of her, but she’d known the reaction would be exactly this.
*‘Everyone will say it would have been better if I’d hidden it.’* The eyes her mother had hated most in the world—repulsive, frightening.
Eileen suppressed the desire to hide, slowly inhaled and exhaled.
Then she raised a hand and released the clip.
The strands of her bangs fell softly, blocking her view.
This was the world she was used to.
Even the atelier owners and their employees were silent.
They just gaped.
The first sound they made was a sigh.
"My goodness..."
From that moment everything around became active again.
The atelier atmosphere, just recently saturated with despair, now filled with energy.
The owners, just a minute ago fiercely arguing with each other, now acted in perfect agreement.
"Tenderness.
Definitely tenderness.
Like a fairy!
For the wedding is outdoors."
"Excellent.
On this dress one can simply replace the sleeves with lace ones.
And add a bit of uniqueness, but not too classical."
"We'll take chiffon.
Light, to flutter slightly in the wind."
"Amazing, but you just said something sensible."
They exchanged remarks, giving employees complex professional instructions.
Those in a rush fulfilled their orders, scurrying like mad.
The lady in bright attire extended a finger and cried out:
"Call a hairdresser immediately!"
The employee at once rushed out the door as if it were the most important assignment.
The woman in bright clothes softly led Eileen to her and finally introduced them: "You can call us by the atelier names."
The lady in strict monochrome attire was Belleza, in bright—Roseto, and in patterned—Brillante, the owners of the three ateliers.
Despite completely different tastes, these three women seemed to try to demonstrate friendliness.
At least at the moment of introduction, they had no time to cast sidelong glances at each other.
But when it came to dressing Eileen in the wedding dress, they were one.
Eileen changed deep inside the atelier under their sensitive guidance.
"We'll secure the bangs with a clip until the hairdresser comes!"
"Tighten the waist.
Take a deep breath!"
"Put lace gloves on the hands."
The three in turn commented on every step, and Eileen felt like a doll being turned in all directions.
In the blink of an eye they’d changed her and watched the result with admiration.
Roseto seriously declared: "You will become a bride the Empire will remember for a long time."
They led Eileen outside with delight.
Diego, talking with one of the employees, opened his eyes wide in amazement.
For a moment he was speechless, then murmured embarrassedly: "You are so beautiful..."
His face expressed sincere shock, and he could only repeat that word.
It seemed he was even upset that he didn't know more suitable expressions.
"Glance in the mirror." Belleza turned Eileen toward it, but she preferred to lower her gaze to the floor.
For the first time in long years she stood with an open face before a mirror.
For others it was ordinary, but for Eileen it required enormous courage.
*‘But everyone says I'm beautiful...’* Probably these were just polite words to encourage, but everyone spoke so sincerely that she herself began to believe it.
Perhaps in such a beautiful dress she really looked good.
Stealthily taking a deep breath, she gathered her courage and carefully raised her gaze.
When she finally saw her reflection...
"...".
Eileen smiled bitterly.
Now she understood why she had avoided mirrors for so many years.
In it stood a woman with a face as if painted over with black paint.
As if a child had smeared a black pencil over it.
A monster in a wedding dress—that was all she saw.
*‘I wanted to see my face... but I couldn't.’* Ever since her mother had given her the glasses and she’d let down her bangs, Eileen had considered herself horrible.
She’d fled, avoided, turned away—in the end she had stopped seeing herself.
Her eyes were healthy, but something in her consciousness had broken, and she hadn't even tried to fix it.
She had no desire to look at this monster.
"I like it.
May I change?" She forced a smile, praised their work, and returned to her usual clothes.
It became slightly easier for her, as if something inside her had calmed a little.
Then the breathless hairdresser appeared, whom the employee had literally dragged by the hand.
She’d been opening a salon next to the atelier and had dropped a late lunch, hearing she was to style the hair of Grand Duchess Erzet.
"It will take no more than ten minutes; I'll just trim the bangs."
Eileen nodded when they suggested she try on another dress after the haircut.
She’d wanted to burrow into the blanket in her bedroom, but she clenched her fists and endured.
However, when the hairdresser took the scissors, Eileen felt something terrible.
At the sight of the scissors her heart began to hammer.
The woman's movements slowed in her eyes; the silver blades glinted in the light.
Vision darkened.
The words of those around sounded muffled, as if from far away, and in her ears was only the heartbeat.
Then—a piercing ring, as if her eardrums were about to burst.
*‘I'll die...’*
At the moment when primitive fear rose to her throat, Eileen spasmodically parted her lips: "D...
Diego," she whispered.
By instinct she called the one who could help.
Hearing the trembling voice, Diego instantly ran up.
He pushed the hairdresser aside and knelt before Eileen, grabbing her hands and looking into her eyes.
"It's all right.
Breathe slowly."
"Kh-kh... kh-kh..."
"Inhale, exhale.
Slower.
You're doing fine."
Eileen trembled, desperately squeezing his hands.
She breathed as he bade.
Fortunately, after some time her breath leveled out.
She looked at Diego with a pale face, and he smiled and whispered: "Let's leave the dresses and go drink tea?"
***
The cafe terrace, flooded with afternoon sun, was a quiet place.
Usually citizens of average means were here, not aristocrats, but that made it even cozier.
An elderly woman with an operatic voice gracefully took the order.
She exchanged a few words with Diego and vanished into the kitchen.
"I'm a regular here.
They make excellent cornetto and cappuccino.
I almost always have breakfast here." Finishing the order for Eileen, Diego took a paper and pencil from the table.
He quickly sketched a cat on the sheet and handed it to her.
"This is my pet.
Cute, right?"
The drawing looked more like a tiger than a tabby cat, but Eileen couldn't restrain a smile.
Diego also laughed, pleased with his venture.
"Recently a white cat appeared near my house, we became friends.
Perhaps soon he too will be mine."
While he told about the fat white cat, the elderly woman brought frothed milk, cornetto, and espresso.
Diego pushed the milk and pastries to Eileen.
The latter wrapped her hands around the cup, trying to warm up and forget about what had happened at the atelier.
Most of all, shame tormented her.
What did those people think of her?
At least she hadn't fainted—already good.
"Thank you, Diego.
You must have been frightened..."
"Not at all.
In war such happens often.
But I didn't know you were afraid of scissors." He waved a hand as if it were a trifle, then, after a pause, asked: "May I ask you a question?"