Chapter Three– Threads That Might Save My Life
820 Words
For the rest of the day, I worked like a model servant.
Which is to say, I did not sigh loudly, did not mutter about fate, and only insulted the universe internally.
Growth.
Felicia kept sneaking glances at me like she expected me to suddenly announce I was running away to join a traveling circus.
Honestly? Tempting. But no.
I had something better now.
A possibility.
That night, after chores, we sat on the narrow steps behind the servants’ quarters, sharing the last of a heel of bread like two exhausted pigeons.
Felicia nudged me. “You’ve been quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s never comforting when you say it like that.”
I smiled faintly. “Do you trust your cousin?”
“Of course,” she said immediately. “Lina’s the most hardworking person I know. Why?”
I stared out at the dark yard, lantern light flickering across the cobblestones.
Because seamstresses go where servants can’t.
They enter noble homes through the front doors.
They take measurements. Adjust gowns. Move between rooms. Hear things.
They are invisible…
…but welcome.
“I was just wondering,” I said carefully, “how someone gets work like that.”
Felicia shrugged. “Mostly referrals. If a lady likes a gown, she recommends the shop. Sometimes households hire one seamstress regularly before big events.”
Before big events.
Like a major banquet where half the nobility would be desperate to look impressive.
My pulse picked up.
“Does she ever need help?” I asked.
Felicia squinted at me. “You? Sewing?”
“I have hands,” I said. “They’re not decorative.”
She laughed. “It’s not easy work. Long hours. Fussy clients. Tiny stitches.”
“I scrub floors for people who pretend I’m furniture,” I said. “I can handle fabric.”
That made her go quiet.
After a moment, she bumped her shoulder gently against mine. “You really have changed.”
Not wrong.
“Life inspires personal development,” I said.
She studied me. “You’re not planning something reckless, are you?”
Always. But not the obvious kind.
“I’m planning to still be alive in a few months,” I replied.
Felicia softened at that. “Then I’ll help however I can.”
I looked at her, really looked at her, and felt that familiar twist in my chest.
In the original story, Brie had no one.
No allies. No witnesses. No one who would notice when she was gone.
That was already different.
“Tell me about the banquet preparations,” I said. “Which families are sending servants ahead? Are extra staff being borrowed? Things like that.”
Felicia blinked. “You really are interested in this.”
“Extremely.”
She thought for a moment. “Well… Mrs. Evan said some of our senior maids might be sent to assist the Halverton household the morning of the event. Big banquets always need extra hands.”
Sent.
Between houses.
Movement.
Opportunity.
“And Lady Seraphine?” I asked, keeping my tone casual. “When will she come home for the banquet “
Felicia gave me a look like I’d asked if the sun planned to rise.
“It's quite hard to say but I think maybe…the night before the banquet”.
Lady Cordelia has already ordered two new gowns adjusted. Pale blue and silver. Very elegant.”
Blue.
That was the dress.
The one described in painful detail right before Seraphine “accidentally” collided with Crown Prince Adrian and changed the trajectory of multiple lives.
I exhaled slowly.
The story wasn’t coming.
It was here.
Felicia leaned back on her hands. “You know… for once, I’m glad we’re just servants. All that noble drama looks exhausting.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “You have no idea.”
Because nobles had safety nets.
Servants had consequences.
As we headed back inside, my mind wasn’t on the Crown Prince.
Not on Seraphine.
Not even on the banquet.
It was on doorways servants didn’t usually walk through…
and how a girl with nothing might stitch herself into a future she was never meant to have.
Two days later, I stood in the courtyard at dawn, doing laundry again
Felicia hurried up beside me, breath visible in the cold morning air.
“I asked Lina,” she whispered quickly. “Like you said.”
My heart skipped. “And?”
“She said the shop is overwhelmed. If you can prove you’re neat with your hands, she might let you help with finishing work. Nothing important at first. Just small things.”
Small things were all I needed.
I nodded once, calm on the outside.
Inside? Fireworks.
Because this wasn’t just about sewing.
This was movement.
Legitimate reasons to leave the estate.
Connections outside the Rosethorne household.
A way to exist somewhere the original Brie never did.
- Writer
