[attr="class","stappbody2"]

[attr="class","stappbody3"]


there's a sense of satisfaction that travels down your spine to the tips of your toes when you see the handsome suits standing behind a wall of translucence. you see yourself reflected, wearing one of white and grey and you think to yourself, 'wow.'

[break][break]you push open the metal door, the smell of soft fabric and class permeating through the polished mahogany. it's quiet and warm, with only the gentle shuffling of the tailor who stands by the counter, smoothing out a large piece of fabric onto the bench.

[break][break]he sees your presence within the shop and he straightens up, a shy smile upon his lips. Blond hair frames one side of his head, falling into the view of blue eyes. He's a handsome sight, perhaps even delicate when you take in his slender form. there's something melancholy about him, just as much as there is warmth but you don' think too much of it.

[break][break]he speaks up, his soft voice gentle and soothing, "hello, how may I help you?" you don't respond immediately for your mind is blank, caught off guard by the question and you stumble around with your words, not quite sure what you want but feeling compelled to answer.

[break][break]somewhere within your answer, you say that you want a formal outfit.

[break][break]there is a silence that follows after you stop speaking and you feel heat crawling up your neck in embarrassment. you flinch when you hear a soft laugh and he stands there, eyes crinkled in amusement. "it's alright, you're not the first."

[break][break]your heartbeat quickens when he walks out from behind the counter, long legs wrapped in fitting grey trousers with sleek oxfords and a long strip of measuring tape hanging around his neck, bypassing a vest of the same grey and a white dress shirt. he beckons you to a dressing room, "let's take your measurements first."

[break][break]he's slow with his movements, but so incredibly focused as he takes in every centimetre of your arms, your legs, your torso. he doesn't speak when he writes the figures down and the stillness in the atmosphere has your legs quivering. you ask for his name while the aroma of vanilla wafts about, sweet and comforting.

[break][break]his reply is as soft as a summer's breeze. Laurent.

[break][break]you leave the shop feeling cared for and frankly, quite sleepy. in a week's time, you're promised a new outfit.

[break][break]

once upon a time...

he is born as the third. not the heir and not the spare.

[break][break]he is overshadowed by the glaring lights that are his brothers, unimportant to his father and forgotten by his mother. he is unneeded and unnecessary.

[break][break]his family is wealthy, genteel, influential. the name of Borchardt is not one that is unheard of in Sundial. sycophancy is a common sight, as are the demands of his existence.

[break][break]he must uphold the family name, even if he has no use. he is told this every day at the beginning of his lessons.

[break][break]he is ten when he asks himself if it was worth being born.

[break][break]the manifestation of his familiar was a day of solitary happiness. after all, nothing is exciting if it's already happened twice before.

[break][break]he grows up in isolation, despite efforts by his brothers to keep his company but there is a presence in his life that kept living much worth it.

[break][break]every tear, every hole in his clothing is mended by his own hand. he does not care for the new shirts that appear on his bed when his mother finds out.

[break][break]when he is sixteen, his parents never find out his revelation about his gender.

[break][break]he attends Lux University with a broken promise on his mind and more alone than he'd imagine.

[break][break]

let us begin...

the Borchardt patriarch cares far too much when the third asks for independence. he is reluctant to let go of what he deems to be 'the spare of the spare'. too much can be heard when he says, 'no, you cannot'. your duty is to your family. if you leave, there will be no supervision. you will taint our name.

[break][break]the third leaves anyway, taking what little belongings he has with him and a portion of assets.

[break][break]he finds solace in a tailor's shop whose elderly owner was willing to take him on for apprenticeship.

[break][break]( when the old man retired, the shop is his and he has made a name of it )

[break][break]

clipped wings once more...

they come out of the blue, simply ordering a suit like every other customer. he doesn't realise things have gone wrong until it is too late.

[break][break]there is a bounty on his head, or at least, the threat of one. he has broken the law. except he hasn't.

[break][break]the suit is a mistake. it reminds him too much of himself; something created that shouldn't exist. he tears it to shreds when he flees.

[break][break]he runs to the coven of snakes, or perhaps they come to him; it's an unclear affair. he says yes to their questions and whoever it is on his tail vanishes.

[break][break]relief is upon his heart but the uncertainty of what he has agreed to grips him like a vice. has he locked himself away again?