Drabble 192 – Scintillation

A photo of a light blue dress with gold embroidery and sequins.

I’ve never really connected with fashion, which seems strange because I own a lot of clothes. Maybe not as many as some people, but enough that the bottom of my t-shirt drawer sags a little. I don’t even really like t-shirts that much.

I’m trying to be more selective in what I wear and what clothes I buy, in part because I never leave the house anymore and in part because I’m trying to be more conscious about everything I spend money on (except food, which is always fair game—god, I miss eating at restaurants!). But part of that consciousness is also letting myself splurge a little. I recently bought a bodysuit from Samantha Pleet I’ve been eyeing for weeks. Where am I going to wear it? Here, at home, to impress nobody but myself (and maybe also my husband or people who see me in meetings). I keep looking at fancy dresses I don’t have a reason to wear and coming up with reasons I should wear them. Nobody’s inviting me to a fancy charity ball, especially not in a pandemic year, but maybe I’ll just hold my own. Maybe I’ll buy a fancy dress and a sword for no reason other than to take a picture of myself with them.

It’s kind of nice to buy clothes for myself for purposes other than, “someone will see me in this while I’m out.” I still don’t know that fashion is really my thing, but if there’s one thing the last godforsaken year has encouraged me to see, it’s that basing my wardrobe on the expectation of being seen wasn’t really making me happy, so I might as well try something new.

Anyway, here’s a drabble.


(n.) from Latin scintilla, for “spark”

Flashing, sparkling light. 

The dress is beautiful, she must admit. It seems to capture light, absorbing it and casting out tiny dancing flashes.The distraction as she twirls on the dancefloor is exactly what she needs; eyes follow the dancing lights, the soaring of her skirts, rather than the hand slipping inside a sleeve to withdraw a dagger. She flits from one man to another until she reaches her target, slipping the blade into his belly before he has a chance to remark on the dress. She is gone before anyone notices, the blood on the ballroom floor the only trace of her.

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