Authors Note: I Have officially returned from my last vacation! I will not be returning to my once-a-day schedule, but updates will pick up and be less random. I'm sorry to say that this chapter is somewhat short, and is a bit of a filler chapter, but it needs to be done. The plot will pick up again in the next chapter, I promise.
Surprisingly quickly Snow found herself standing in yet another airy and windowed room, this one, however, held a wide table, a comfortable chair, and a small shelf of sewing implements, including a ruler, scissors, a few needles, a tape measure, chalk, and a large pincushion. However, as far as she could see, there was no fabric or thread to be found, let alone a spinning wheel or loom of any kind.
Despite this apparent lack of supplies, Brolian enthusiastically gathered up the tape measure and procured ink, pen, and parchment from the table. Though Snow was somewhat skeptical of the ability of a man, even a fey one, to sew, Whitaran had seemed entirely confident in his capabilities when he had asked him to "fit her for some proper clothes", so she was currently reserving judgement.
Once gathered, he paused and looked at her for a moment. Snow suddenly realized that to get a proper measurement, she would need to remove her dress. She could feel her cheeks flushing, but there was no getting around it, and deciding to spare him the embarrassment of having to ask her she questioned, "Ah, do you need me to remove my dress?"
He blinked in surprise, then replied, "No, I don't think so. I believe the material you are wearing is thin enough that it should not be an issue."
Vastly relieved, and very glad she was not wearing her thick overdress, Snow nodded.
There was another pause. Now Brolian looked terribly uncomfortable. "Ah, would you like to measure or . . ."
And Snow realized that measuring involved a great deal of touching. "I have been measured before, Brolian. Please go ahead."
Brolian looked relieved, and quickly set to it. Despite the terrible awkwardness she had never experienced with women tailors, he seemed like he knew what he was doing. Measuring around her waist, hips and bust, across her shoulders, and down her back to the floor.
Finally, he stepped back and marked the final measurement on the parchment. "Do you have any color preferences Lady?"
"Not really . . ." Snow said.
"Well, then, that's all."
Snow nodded, and when Brolian turned away and began scrawling on the piece of parchment, Snow wandered out of the room, clearly dismissed, but unsure where she was supposed to go next, let alone how to get there.