“Russet or sunburst, I’m thinking autumnal with a cottage core vibe,” Hanna said.

“Like orange. This isn’t Halloween, sweetheart. Orange isn’t for weddings. How about petal pink? What do you think Helena? Look at this one,” Mrs. Carmody said.

An confection of pink tulle and satin was thrust into Helena’s face. She fumbled with the bridesmaid’s dress. She was supposed to be the buffer between her baby sister and her sister’s future mother-in-law. Hanna’s face was flushed as Mrs. Carmody selected another pink dress. This one was a mass of bubblegum ruffles.

“Halloween! Look this is my wedding.”

Hoisting the two gowns up like a fluffy barrier, Helena separated the women before sparks began to fly. The bridal shop clerk hurried over with a distraction of cold cheap white wine. Helene ditched the dresses and hustled her sister towards the cocktail dresses. In a flurry of crepe and georgette, Hanna was venting. Helena’s face hurt from fake smiling. Nodding, Helena made soothing noises. The clerk and her mom were running interference to prevent Allan’s mother from sharing her suggestions with Hanna.

She brushed against crushed velvet. I should be bridal dress shopping, Helena thought. The image of Michael made her fingers clench the fabric. She felt his hands sliding up her back when they met at Skyline. Helena was wearing her favorite shirt dress, midnight blue velvet. Michael couldn’t keep his eyes off her. Brilliant and beautiful, Helene remembered shimmering under his gaze as they talked all night. He wouldn’t let her wear that dress anymore. Said she looked like a whore. She looked around nervously before forcing herself to smile again. It’s okay, we’re okay. He let me come dress shopping with my family. Things are fine, she thought.

“That’s pretty, I guess. It would compliment the auburn tea roses.”

The sound of her baby sister’s voice brought Helena back to the present. The entire wedding party had gathered around her and the dusty plum gown crushed in her hands. Mrs. Carmody was droning on about baby’s breath. The clerk showed up with mimosas. Her mom tried to catch Helena’s eye, wanting to say something, anything to her girl. Helena hurried deeper into the rows.

The little red riding hood is one of the characters Then is the grandma who was the other character

She hadn't been expecting it, and that's why she reacted so strongly. Velvet was horribly outdated, after all. It never surpassed the popularity it reach during the Renaissance.

So, when Francesca came across the deep, green velvet dress among a donation pile and felt it's plush, rich texture for the first time in centuries, it sent her reeling. Her memories launched her back to a night she hadn't though of in quite literally a lifetime, back to a time where she wore a dress similar to the one currently underneath her fingers.

A castle in the idellic Italian countryside was a magnificent place for a ball to be held. With everything emerging from the Renaissance, it was a rather exciting time to be out in society. Francesca lived for the days where she could dress like a princess in a velvet gown and float across the dance floor the night amongst the upper class circles. The melodies of the string instruments sounded as if they were raining down from the heavens. She still felt Lorenzo’s touch like a whisper on her olive skin, endlessly twirling her around the ballroom. At the time, it had been the greatest night of her life. She was in love and carefree. She had no idea what fate had in store for her future.

Just as quickly as Francesca was drawn into the memories, she was ripped just as harshly back to present day, tears streaming down her face. She refocused herself on her job of sorting clothes in the back room of a consignment shop. At the same time, she was trying to decide what her next move would be as she navigated her agonizingly endless existence.

The rubble surrounding me after the earthquake made my knees shake underneath me as I scavenge for any memories. My hands, calloused and dirty, bled as I dug through splintery wood and shattered glass. My eyes were wide as I scrounge like a mad-man in the rubble, trying to find anything to remind me of her.

That’s when I found it.

A felt the familiar fabric. The feeling of velvet that I had ran my hands along so many times. The feeling of the velvet that I saw my beautiful wife wear on our first date. The feeling of the velvet that made me smile when I saw my wife’s joy from recieving the gift.

I shudder as I remember how helpless my neighbor sounded telling me how my wife passed, how she tried and tried to save her but it was of no use. My wife was a brilliant, gorgeous, stunning woman who was taken from me too soon, and feeling this fabric made me relive our best memories all over again.

I squeeze my eyes shut, as if I was praying it was the red, velvet dress I was thinking about, as I pull the fabric out of the rubble. I didn’t care if I sliced my hands open some more. I just wanted this dress back.

My eyes widen as half of the dress comes out, the other half somewhere else. My world, alongside this dress, became torn in half. I clutch the pieces tightly to my body, never wanting to let go.

I will never let go of the reminders of you, my dearest wife.

As soon as I felt it, in-between my hands That velvet was unmistakable The softest fabric in all of the land The one who showed me that the glass is half full

I clench my fist, nails digging crescent-shaped indents into the calloused flesh of my palms, squeezing my eyes just as closed as my digits. Even now, I miss her. Even as my lifetime has passed by, the memories of her prevail. She is close to my heart and soul and mind, yet never near my body. My mother. Her silken purple hair. Her deep blue eyes. Her creamy pale skin. Her velvet dress. That velvet dress; the one she always wore, wrinkled as the corners of her eyes when she smiled. I still remember the feeling of the fabric beneath my small hands, watching her cook or sleeping in her arms as a youngling. Memories that are long gone, but never forgotten.

A/N: no ‼️ i don’t like this but imma post it anyway bc uhm wattpad instincts taking over 👺 also it’s not finished i js don’t want that ‘draft’ thing up ocdcore ykyk /j 

The velvet dress flow in the wind Battered and destroyed Suddenly the memory’s came flooding back A girl my love Who left one day Went with another man I never heard of her again But loved her still Now I know of her fate Crushed with the city as it fell I fall to my knees I cry out loud I love her even now

He’d fallen into bed with her, choking in a female perfume, catching the sleeves of her dress and yanking them off her shoulders. Her bones were like a bird’s, or the tiny ones holding up ear cartilage or maybe not there at all, like shark blubber. She was all flesh, no bones, that night.

It was in the morning, when she’d tossed him that smile, that he noticed the bones, the solidity of what he did, that he started in bed. Her black hair coursed down the sheets, and he wondered if a strand had crawled beneath his skin and tangled in his guts.

‘Did you have fun?’

He was too drunk that night, she too, but only one of them had developed enough to regret. She was nearly two years younger but he thought she ought to be smarter.

He pulled himself off the bed and stepped onto the carpet. Velvet melted beneath his feet and he looked down to a dress, like the residue of a crime scene, glinting at him.

There a smile flickered from the colour, then the body of her older sister, who had as much as love for him as he did for her. It couldn’t have belonged to her, but borrowed from her sister.

The same sister who stole the place of his original beloved, the same he’s bethrothed to in her absence. That chilling woman, his fiancée. He loathed to marry her, to recite vows on their wedding day, but loathed more to enter his parent’s disapproval.

The only real advantage was that he didn’t need to act proper. He’d already began aging the wine he’d drink the morning of the wedding. If he’s lucky, he’d be drunk the whole fucking thing.

‘Hey?’

He looked back at her, snapped out of it., frothing with questions.

Why would she wear that? Knowing what velvet red implies between them? Did she think he loved her sister in any capacity beyond tolerance? Horrible, horrible girl, and worser him.

‘What?’

‘Are you okay? With this, I mean, I—’

‘This can never happen again.’

Her thin brows skewed, faintly reminding him of a pathetic watercolour doll. ‘But wasn’t last night good for you?’

‘Like that matters.’

His life’s already messed up as it is without bedding his fiancée’s younger sister. His fiancée would grind his bones into a fine powder and smoke a blunt from his ashes.

‘But it does matter to me. For years, I’ve wanted—’

‘You’re nothing like that to me.’ He didn’t want to hear someone he loved as a sister finish a sentence like that. ‘I mean it. I’m sorry. I was wasted and I didn’t mean to take advantage of you. But can you…’ how did he word it in a way that didn’t make him the scum of the Earth?

But she caught on. ‘I won’t tell her.’

‘Thank you. If it’s alright, can you please be on your way? I’ll contact you later.’

She got off the bed as he pulled his foot off the dress. They were the last things he wanted to see.

He sealed himself in the washroom and washed his eyes, the light foundation and hints of blush that brightened his complexion last night, and opened his phone—left on the head of the toilet.

No messages. No scandal outbreak. Just a lone notification from Maman inquiring if he’d be there at the meeting this evening. The world spun on. She was still in his bed.

He wore a bathrobe and only left when he heard the door shut.

January 2025; Seattle, Washington, USA Yes, he was old, whithering, on the brink of death. The Grim Reaper stared him in the face and didn’t look away, and yet, something happened when he felt that soft, inviting slice of fabric. He…………….

Still…………….

Heard…………….

It…………….

September 1939; Danzig, Poland

The young boy turned thirteen today. He was tall and lean for his age, and handsome. Very handsome indeed. He was usually very confident, too, but today, he stumbled over Hebrew words, reciting them oh so carefully as to not mispronounce anything.

He made it through.

When he stepped off of the podium, there she was. The young lady was his age, and she was prettier than most. He couldn’t take his eyes off of her and her perfect, shiny hair.

And her dress.

Her dress was made of wine-colored velvet, and she stood shyly in it.

“May I have this dance?” She asked in soft, familiar Polish. She reached out a pale hand, and it shook on the way.

The boy, starstruck, reached for her hand. He took it. Softly, slowly, surely, he drew her in and placed a hand on her shoulder, and the way it felt… That soft slice of fabric was so distinct, he might never forget it. The two started to sway together, but bedlam was unleashed just a few feet away.

There were screams and hurried, running footsteps and a large, booming crrrracckkkkk!

He realized soon enough that it was the door being broken down.

There were uniformed men, and the harrowing sounds of angry, alien German.

He might have blacked out somewhere along the way, but the last time he saw her, she was being dragged away by two men, her face a fine portrait of helplessness and pure terror.

Who knows if she made it through.

The thick black velvet caresses my body as it falls to the floor, covering every inch of my body yet exposing everything.

“You look beautiful.” My sister, Claire, says from behind me.

“I don’t think beautiful is the goal here. This is a funeral, after all.” I look back at the full length mirror. The black clashes with my light skin and makes my lifeless blonde hair look even more colorless than normal.

“It’s what Mom would’ve wanted. You know that.” Claire opens the jewelry box on the dresser and pulls out a string of our mother’s favorite pearls. The paint that once made them almost pass as real is chipping, but they are lovely nonetheless. She places them around my neck. Despite the cold of the little beads, they’re a surprising comfort against my skin.

“I can’t believe it’s just us now.” I play with the small beads between my fingers in attempt to stop the welling tears from cascading over my haphazardly applied makeup.

You’d think that the years she fought cancer would prepare us for this day, but there was nothing that could have prevented the devastation I’ve felt over the past few days. Stopped the tears from flowing freely. Or unknotted the anguish that gathered in the pit of my stomach.

Claire hugs me from behind, her tight, dark curls rubbing against my face. The smell of her coconut shampoo fills my nose, something familiar in this new life I have to figure out how to live. Her embraces are all that’s getting me through.

“I promise I’ll never leave you if I can help it.” She says as she pulls away. “We’re in this together. Forever.”

I nod. “We’ll always have each other. No matter what.”