"Mareth, I have a bag filled with your fresh clothes here."

"Please, just set them on the bed." It was my time, and I was certainly not about to be interrupted for clean garments. I stared again at my reflection. There is something missing here… I paused a moment to see that I was alone again. Finding that I was, I resumed staring.

Every night for the past year had been roughly the same. I would stare at myself for hours, and I know I was missing something! Something would be… out of place. I could not come up with what it might be for the life of me. It was madness.

Face is the same… it is my nose, my lips, my teeth, hair, ears, my eyes… My body, though more worn, is more or less the same… perhaps I shall take a break. Maybe, just maybe, I will think of it as I put away my laundered apparel. I knew it would not be so, but, with a sigh, I made way to my bed, unable to help feeling empty.

I opened my sack of clothes and stuck my hand deep in… something felt off. The clothes seemed to flow into eachoter effortlessly. I admit, spinners' silk is like liquid on the skin, though my clothes were never as fluid as this. Confused, I grabbed a handful of clothes and lifted it from the bag. It seemed so long, and at first I thought it might have been a mix up. These were too long to be my pants, though I knew York was currently visiting Regalia. He was almost more famous down here for his size than for ruling the Fount.

As I inspected it more thouroughly, I discovered that there had been, indeed, a mix up. However, it was not York's laundry I had received; it appeared to be someone's dress. I am not sure exactly how it happened, but something clicked in my mind. This was what I was missing! I hurriedly put the gown on, giddy with understanding. I dashed over to my mirror, eager to see how it was.

Perfect. I have no idea how long I stood in front of the mirror, repeating to myself "I know! This is how I am. I am complete." It might have been mere minutes or it may have been hours, but I was pulled out of my trance with a voice at my doorway.

"Mareth? What…?" Vikus, stunned, broke off his question. It might have been "What are you doing?" or "What were you thinking?" or quite possibly "What are you wearing?", and, though I did not know the question, I knew the answer.

"I feel like this is how I was meant to be."