Young Writers Society

This is being posted 10 minutes after the deadline but it was actually done before then. I don't have wifi in my Parisian flat so I have to use my phone as a hotspot and it was being disagreeable. However, it is now here. Word count: 856. 

The room in which Elita led Cora was dedicated entirely to fabrics. It wasn’t very big but it was very crowded, with hundreds of different fabrics squeezed into the white Formica shelves. Little Cora gazed around, stroking the green velvet with her eyes and revelling in the visual sensation of white cotton on a hot summer day. The colours and patterns were just as vibrant and just as eclectic. Elita was definitely not without fabrics to create the perfect Savoury Princess Dress.

“How will you choose?” asked Cora as she starting to walk, sliding her fingers along the fabrics mounted along the shelves.

“Well, I’ve already chosen. You need something slightly understated to juxtapose your extraordinary being. Also, the best princesses were the ones who were elegant and sophisticated, not gaudy and undignified.” Elita moved toward a corner of the room where the fabrics were more muted colours and mostly cotton. She pulled out a thick, folded square of soft, yellow cotton embroidered with minute orange flowers. “What do you think?”

Cora’s eyes lit up. “With the orange trim, I think it will be wonderful. I love it!”

Any other person would have looked at the Savoury Princess Dress and thought summer dress, but for the small, seaside whistle-stop, it was grand in its uniqueness and sophistication. When Cora paraded down Main Street for the first time in the dress, all eyes were upon her. She shone butter-yellow, and if the buttons caught the sunlight in just the right way, it almost seemed like parts of the dress were bedecked in gold. Truly, the Savoury Princess Dress was royal attire.

But Cora did not really care that she was the centre of attention. Cora was more occupied with the feeling of the dress, as it swished against her pale legs or caught the ocean wind, sending skirts flying à la Marilyn Monroe. Her favourite thing to do was to sit along the rocky beach on a large boulder and wave to the passing ships, as the sea breeze infiltrated cotton fibres, pretending that she was waving to her father the King as he sailed off to war and she had to be secretly hidden away to protect her far-flung throne and valuable bloodline. Later, all fantasies of royalty were abandoned for Cora would busy herself with the green shore crabs that scuttled from Atlantic pool parties located beneath small, seaweed-stricken rocks. However, when she returned to what little civilization could be found in Savoury, all eyes yet again looked her up and down with admiration and curiosity. There was no escaping it: Cora had truly begun to embody her unofficial role as Savoury’s beloved princess and her deep love for dresses.

What an apt name, thought Cora about the new store as she came back to reality. In her meandering memories, she had somehow moved around and was hiding among a rack of pastel silk robes. In the May warmth, the fabric was cool against her skin. It beckoned alluringly and Cora could only dream of what it might be like to be entirely enveloped in one of the pink dresses. After a few seconds of I shouldn’ts, she gave in and grabbed the item from the hanger. Rapidly, she moved on to other hangers and within minutes, her arms were overflowing with every summer dress imaginable. A flashing gold sign with an arrow directed her easily enough to the change rooms.

As she began to hang the many different dresses on the hooks, Cora was overwhelmed with apprehension. There was something curiously awry with Nostalgia and she couldn’t quite place her finger on it. Shrugging her shoulders, Cora removed the first dress off of its hanger. It was a loose-fitting, knee-length gown in a purple gradient. The sleeves and hem featured elegant pearls and their imperfections belied the fact that they had been preserved naturally since their hand-harvesting at the bottom of the ocean. Where she might wear the dress, Cora had no idea, but it was always fun to flirt with the outfits.

Seconds before she slipped it over her head, Cora heard familiar jingle of the dress shop door followed by a shrill shriek only Henrietta could produce: “Cora! We need you!”

The dress aficionado peek out of the change room to perceive her tackily dressed accountant mother (biological). “For what?” Her tone was unforgivingly curt.

“No need to be sharp,” replied Henrietta. She lingered distastefully between two racks of puce-coloured polyester things. “Your father and I have decided that it’s high time you remember that your parents are not Hugo and Elita, so we have organized a small overnight camping trip to Hogwallaby Falls. We’re leaving this instant and we packed your bag.” With that, Henrietta walked purposely from the store into the waiting vehicle outside.

There was no reaching a compromise here. Cora was stuck. With a heaved sigh, she left the multitude of dresses behind and ventured into the dull world of accountants camping in Hogwallaby Falls. Little did she know, Nostalgia would still be luring when she returned the next afternoon.