You told me once, when I was asking questions, that ignorance is bliss. When I met him, I wondered if he had been what You were talking about. He is always loud, and noisy, and says exactly what is on his mind, even if it's of no consequence.

I asked You about him, later, but You grew angry and told me that I questioned too many things.

I don't ask You questions anymore.

The door slams open as I raise my hand to knock, and I am drawn inside in a flurry of starched lace and blue velvet. "My dearest cousin, welcome, welcome, a thousand times welcome to my humble shop!"

"Hello," I stutter, trying hard not to trip on the dress's train running gracefully along the floor.

"I'm so happy that you're here! So punctual, too! I must confess that I am not nearly so virtuous as you, and it will be a very few minutes before it's ready!" He is taking very long strides, and giving a twirl every third step.

The train sweeps below me, and I try to hop to avoid it. Catching my toe, I pitch forward into his arm, wrapping my hands around it.

"Whoops," he lifts his arm and I struggle to hold on, before he sweeps his other arm behind my knees and holds me like a bride. "We must be careful, mustn't we? I apologize for my dress that I have sewn with my own poor, fragile, calloused hands!"

He paused, waiting with a tiny pout until I stammered, "I-it's very pretty on you."

"I thought so, too!" he gushed, moving down the hallway again. "But, you know, it is only meant as a demonstration of the sorts of things my shop sells. What you're going to wear is much better, since I used a single stitch on the inside of the seams. You almost can't see them!"

He entered the main room of the store and laid me down on a couch. "Now, you just wait here for my lovely wife to help you! I shall be toiling away, completing your gorgeous gown!"

I lay there, watching him leaping away. He got to the other couch in the room, moved a light blue pile of something to the side, and sat with his legs crossed primly. He pulled the pile back onto his lap, turning what had to be a skirt inside out and deftly threading a needle. As his fingers moved, slowly coming down the line of the hem, I watched in fascination.

He is always confident that the people around him will put up with his antics, and is always sure that he's more endearing than actually annoying. He knows what he's doing. But, as I look on, his hyperactivity settles and his blissfully ignorant smile becomes almost motherly. All the time, the needle follows its course with clean and precise movements.

He is a different person, when something really matters.

A woman with tightly curl pigtails in a maid's dress greets me. "He isn't finished yet?"

I shake my head and pull myself up to sit properly. "Is the dress very pretty?"

"Oh, it is. He's put his soul into this one. It's only very rarely that he allows one of his family members to wear his work, let alone model." She presses a finger beneath my chin and turns my face up to hers. "And all of you are so adorable!"

As I blush, she moves away from me to take up a brush and bobby pins from the table, finally stopping behind him. Trying not to disturb him, she takes all of his long hair and lays it in a line down his back. She brushes through it carefully, never tugging too hard on a knot. Then, she starts to style it.

When she's finished, it's like a sculpture of braids. I'm struck with a desire to grow my hair out.

She examines his progress and comes back to me. "I'll only do a little bit, alright? You'll like it, and it will match his." I nod, and my long bangs are taken up with a happy smile.

When he's finished, he stand up in a pose of triumph and presents it to her regally. Before she has a chance to show me my hair, she's whisked me off to a changing room and helping me into the new dress.

As she is tying silk laces in a pattern up my wrist, I ask, "Are you really his wife?"

"No," she only pauses a moment, and her smile doesn't fade, "but maybe I will be, one day. He won't explain anything to me, but he asked the head of his family for permission and was refused. I thought it odd, since usually he would be asking mine, and they would have agreed wholeheartedly."

I closed my eyes, remembering. "Yes, He likes to keep some of us close to His heart."

"It doesn't matter. As long as I can remain with him, nothing matters."

When she is finished, she takes me back out, and a sort of stage has been set up. A photographer is there, having an argument with him about staying still.

Both fall silent as I approach.

I'm wrapped in his arms again, suddenly, and he whispers, "Thank you for helping make my dreams come true."

I'm not able to see the pictures that the photographer takes, but she has an instant-developing camera and shows us at the end. There we are, almost like royalty, but he is too beautiful to be a king.

"You can keep it, as a memory of this most glorious of days, my princess," he says, going into a deep bow as he gives me both the picture and a light blue rose. "Whenever you see either of these things, think of me with fondness, and I shall be content forever!"

I watch as she respectfully reminds him that a rose won't last very long, and, in spite of myself, start to giggle quietly.

I wish that I was as loved as he is.

And I wish that I could stop learning of things that You do to keep us from happiness.