I walked with my mother down the string of shops as the hoarfrost lamps were slowly but surely lit in their shattered majesty. The ground was covered in blue ice that was in-turn covered by a heavy frosting of snow. Lichens and large patches of floral growth in wintry tones of white, grey, and blue, grew along the boulevard like some discoloured flowers. Truth be told, I loved Cryox around this time of year seeing as how the plants seemed to sprout out of nothing but the cracked ice itself, a testament to the hardiness of the Clan that fostered them.
“Fantasia, look here.” My mother said as she looked through a frosted window, our breath was like the smoke that father often breathed out whenever he was frustrated.
At the window, my mother eyed several articles of bright, precious gemstones that glowed with an inner light that came from their mystical makings. We decided to walk inside and ask for a smaller one that was cut in a cabochon style and was a bright, oceanic blue. The fire flashed and shone gently within it, sparking and igniting in a violent dance of life and light.
Inside the shop sat an old woman with rings and spikes of ice jutting out of her body like a regal crown. A frozen over patch of withered flowering lichens lay in a bundle in a corner of the shop. Her eyes were blind and glowed with a cold, white brilliance that illuminated the entire space. There was no escaping from the cold of this place and it only grew in intensity inside the shop. She sat up when we entered even though we made no noise.
“Good! Good, good, good evening my dearies! It is not every day I am graced with the presence of royalty, let alone the empress and her daughter!” The woman came down from her chair. The ice shifted from her beaten-in chair and followed her every movement, forming rime wherever her body touched.
Despite the amount of ice that covered her body, she was very nimble and moved with an alacrity that betrayed the hard wrinkles and white hair flecked with snow and mistletoe. She curtsied low to the ground, her dress, once made for a wedding, now was patched with multiple, faded, floral patterns and yet, remained full of holes and lacking in regards to a corsage with the parts around her shoulders being held together with clear, icy straps.
My mother asked about the piece and the woman nodded, taking it quickly from its casing in the window.
Now came the hard part. Any currency was too easily forged, thus my father had never clearly instated a singular form of currency across the kingdom, and so we’d have to rely on both the goodwill of the seller, and reputation of the Skyforth name.
My mother asked the woman what price she would put on it and the old woman, without hesitation, asked for a newly tailored dress. My mother nodded, eyeing her carefully to gauge the measurements since it would be dangerous to come closer than a few inches to the lady due to her temperature. Her breath did not come out in clouds like ours did but rather seemed to freeze the air around her face like a fine mist. After a bit, my mother said that she would tailor a dress adequate for the matron or until it was so.
After wandering around a bit more, when the sky darkened, we thought it best to get started on the dress so that we could get home before it got any colder outside.
We found a tailor and asked him for access to his materials which he willingly gave to us. While I cut the material, my mother sewed quickly and with careful calculation. Neither of us spoke a word as we worked, only focusing on the numbers my mother had told me at the beginning of this.
The materials looked like soft, blankety quilts, but whenever I would stop for a bit, I could feel my fingers going numb from the frigidity. This material we were making the dress out of was called juneaurcrast. It was grown in the ice fields and bartered for food, housing, some forms of jewellery, and schooling. It was notoriously used to make clothes for these people who could no more stand heat than a snowman could stand a warm summer’s day.
Along with this, we used various fabrics that had been grown from lichens and mosses within the town. By the end, we had a dress fit for any well-to-do Imaginarian. Not entirely the kind of dress for commoners, but certainly not the most astonishing work my mother had ever fabricated. We brought it back to the old lady who graciously gifted the cabochon to us and a medallion that she had probably crafted of frosted steel. As we left, I could see a wide smile on her face as she held the dress close to her chest.
