It was laundry day again. Much as I hated the tubs of soapy water and the squishing sound of cloth being wrung out, it was always pleasant after the deed. My companions and I, we enjoyed the warm breezes as we gazed at row upon row of bedsheets and green or brown trousers gently rippling in the wind. We, of course, were gathered off to the side where the garments worn by the royal family and their noble guests were set out to dry, separate from those of the servants and soldiers. From this secluded corner, we could watch the others, but never engage in conversation with them.
"Oh, Babe," I said to my dearest friend. I sighed longingly as I tried to peer over the castle walls. "What do you think it is like in the outside world?"
"Give it up, Rose," he replied with customary boredom in his voice. "Why don't you just accept your lot in life?"
Accept...? Never! Upon hearing this, I huffed indignantly. I should have known better than to ask him! "Well, you go ahead and content yourself with this gilded cage! I am destined for great things and great love!"
I am a romantic; I take no shame in it. The sight of those plain white undershirts on the other side of the courtyard at once sickened me with their peasantry, and yet aroused in me a curiosity that could not be stifled, for I had never left the castle. I felt so naive, never to have walked among the multitudes during a festival, never to have fallen in love with a handsome stranger just at a glance...
Why, Rose von Bielefelt was as stubborn as her master, and she would not take this lying down! Yes, that's right. My name is Rose von Bielefelt. I am a nightgown.
As fond as I usually am of my good friend Babe, I was glad that the wind decided, at that moment, to blow between us so that my left sleeve blew to the right, and his right sleeve to the left. I could not bear to listen to his plebeian sentiments right now.
Babe, as he insisted on being called, was a plain set of blue pajamas. He was one of the latest additions to our family of royal garments, coming only with the inauguration of the new king. We first met in the king's bed.
I had greeted him softly and spoke to him at length about how we should try to get along, for it seemed that we would be sharing sleeping quarters. (Indeed, my premonition came true, as my master adamantly insisted on sneaking out from his room in the dead of night to make his way to his love's side.) And Babe, when I asked if his name was short for "baby blue", had said to me, "No way! Haven't you heard of Babe Ruth?" whereupon he had gone on and on that entire night speaking to me of this tiresome "baseball" that his master was so fond of.
How did the sovereign of one of the most powerful nations in the world end up wearing such average looking baby blue pajamas? I had wondered. But if there was one thing I had learned about Babe, it was that he shared his master's lack of propriety and respect for social class. He had an intense rivalry with Kuro, the Maou's beautiful and refined g-string. (Kuro did not usually hang out to dry with the rest of us. He was small enough not to need it, and the Maou was a shy boy.) Rather than associate with more aristocratic vestments, Babe was always off frolicking with "t-shirts" and "jeans", or, god forbid, Lord Weller's undergarments, which weren't even silk, but cotton.
But I suppose that's part of what I liked about him, that he was different from the rest, yet not nearly as ugly as Lord Weller's cotton undergarments. In any case, I had erroneously thought that Babe would understand my longing, but he did not. Miffed, I refused to look in his direction and let the wind push me as it would.
That was when I saw her.
Oh, stars! My heart ached upon seeing her elegant visage. Her cloth, light and smooth, a restrained hue of lavender. Her collar, just a slender line of frills to add a touch of femininity. Unlike my childish self, she was not bedecked in an assortment of puffs, buttons, and ribbons. This mysterious nightgown did not need such frivolities! I could see from the way she flowed in the wind that she, when worn by her mistress, would cling to each curve.
I felt so unbearably ugly, like a duckling next to a swan. Sweet zephyrs caress her, but she was the epitome of sensuality. Though in my heart of hearts I knew she would see nothing in me but a billowy pink frock... Though I knew with almost violent certainty that she would laugh at me... I knew I must approach her.
I inched forth as stealthily as I could, swinging further down the laundry line with each gust until we were face to face.
"Hello, dear," she said to me. Her voice was a low, smooth contralto. I was so nervous I could barely reply.
"H-hello."
The lavender nightgown chuckled at me, and I swear upon the washing board that her frills winked at me. "Oh, how rude of me, dear! A guest ought to introduce herself! I am Violette; my master, King Saralegui of Shou Shimaron, will be visiting Shin Makoku for some time. Pleased to meet you."
"Ah- Oh, the pleasure's all mine, Violette! My name is Rose, and I just cannot express how wonderful it is to meet another nightgown who is being worn by a man. How rare it is! I believe you are the first I have ever met, besides myself, of course."
"Is that so? Well, please tell me all about your master. Is he as beautiful as you?"
My goodness, she was so forward... I gasped in surprise. Could it be that she was showing an interest in me? Ugly me with my overabundance of girlish frippery?
Violette reached forth, and with her sleeve brushed over the ribbons between my breasts. "Come, my lovely Rose. You blush so prettily." She giggled, sleeves blowing up to hide her amused ruffles. And then she said, "You seem so innocent! I couldn't help but overhear your conversation. You said you have never been outside? Oh, that is simply dreadful! Does your master not bring you along when he travels?"
"No, I'm afraid he doesn't... He has another set of peach-colored pajamas that are much more practical. He does not dare wear me outside the castle..."
Violette tsked and folded me into her comforting embrace. "You poor thing! Come, I shall tell you all about the my travels; what it is like to be on a ship or in a tavern... If you will dance with me, that is."
I nodded my assent enthusiastically. We danced, then, our sleeves entwining as we swayed together on our two clotheslines. I have no adjective suitable to describe this experience but heavenly. I had never felt this way about anyone before! You may doubt me; say it is but a momentary insanity or the foolish, insincere infatuation of the young and stupid, but no! 'Twas love! I knew in that moment. Violette was my one and only.
"Violette!" I cried. I embraced her tightly.
"Yes?"
"I must confess to you! I can bear it no longer! I lo- I lo- Aaaaaah!"
Brutish hands grasped my sides, and before I could finish speaking, I was being yanked off, folded, and thrown into a basket.
"Lazania, take these to the Maou's room, okay?"
Those were the last words I heard before Babe was unceremoniously dropped on top of me and I was lost in darkness.
A/N: ...I have nothing to say in my defense, except that I hope you enjoyed the crack. Wolfram's Nightgown/Sara's Nightgown OTP forever. I've always wanted to write some kind of lesbian Victorian romance between a blushing virgin and a femme fatale... But that would have been a normal fic, so I wasn't able to pull it off. I added nightgowns, and that made everything better.
This fic will have one more part.
Oh, and Sara's nightgown, in case you haven't seen it: pdk(dot)broken-sunshine(dot)net/images/dvd/r2season3_10b(dot)jpg