Satin, velvet and bright colours, corsets and big bustles turned the small room to a treasury of beauty. Dora, portly middleaged woman who worked as a costume designer to a traveling theatre company, sat at the table and started to eat with same sensual pleasure which she lavished to her dresses.
"Quality without big money. Impressive."
Dora turned her head, with mouth full of borsch and bread, and saw tall, thin man, dressed in black but with white gloves, and three women behind him. Women were most beautiful trio Dora had ever seen: one blonde in rosy 1890´s walking-gown, second a dark brunette in purple velvet and high 16th century collar, and third one with wavy red curls, wrapped with richly red velvet cape. Gorgeous vintage clothes, Dora thought, and swallowed her mouth empty.
"Forgive me coming here without invitation, but this was urgency. My name is Count de Ville," the man said.
Dora was painfully aware for her fatness and untidiness. "Good evening, Count," she said. She had no idea how to formally speak to an aristocrat.
"My three companions loved the dresses you have made to these plays and operettas," Count said with silky voice "I live like a recluse in Transylvania, and my companions need someone to dress... haute couture gowns for them."
"You mean you offer me a job?" Dora said and tasted her borsch. "I am no haute couture designer..."
"We need someone who does gorgeous old-fashioned clothes and not some modern trash," Count said smoothily. "Elisabeta, Carmilla and Lilith just can´t go to a Yule ball without most stunning gowns. They decided you can design their clothes for next centuries."
Centuries?
Dora tasted her food and thought. "This is some joke, isn´t it?"
Count smiled, and his eyes - why they looked so red? - concentrated on Dora´s eyes. "No, Miss Dora, and believe me, this offer is something you can´t decline..."
.