Authors Note: Apologies for not posting last Saturday, I had written nearly everything I was going to post, and then the computer deleted it all. And I was too angry to re-write it. But, here it is now, better late than never.
Snow had deliberated for far too long this morning before ending up picking the brilliant green dress she had admired last night. Out of curiosity she had donned the different corset, and out of necessity the pair of shorts – after she realized there were no other undergarments present. The short, light, and loose corset felt horribly revealing, even though she could see that it showed only the slightest difference. Likewise, the lack of an underskirt swirling about her ankles made her feel underdressed and half naked, despite the fact that once again she could tell no visible difference.
On the other hand, the dress itself felt wonderful. Due to the lack of other material between her skin and its fabric, she could feel its softness. In addition – its loose but shaped construction managed to both flatter her figure and yet hide enough that she felt much less naked after donning it. The loose sleeves alone felt downright freeing. It was new and strange, and she wasn't sure she liked all of it – but by the time breakfast was over she felt far less stiff and exposed.
As the group broke up, Grenarin beckoned to her, and promptly disappeared around the corner and further into the house – visibly bouncing with excitement. Snow followed him into the first room in the house she had seen that did not contain a large window. On the wall directly opposite the door was a large flat piece of grey slate. Along the floor underneath it was a wooden step that appeared to do double duty as a desk, as there were many papers upon it. It also held a small basked of chunks of the whitest rock snow had seen – which was clearly used to write upon the black slate wall. Nearly half of it was taken up with a large circle complete with the math required to determine the correct runes. The other bit was dedicated to a long paragraph of unfamiliar writing, broken often by yet more equations. When she entered, Grenarin was busying himself transcribing the circle illuminated on the wall onto the ground with a flat black paint.
Knowing he would be at it for some time, Snow turned her attention to the other walls of the room, all of which, as it turned out, were covered in shelving. Well used shelving, filled to the edge with more books than she had seen anywhere outside the royal library, open topped containers of woods and metals full of many of the herbs she had seen in the garden, small but beautiful scales, jars, and bowls, a large collection of brilliant paints and dyes – including a white that seemed to be the color of the floor, and in the clear place of honor, an elegant pen made from a truly imposing feather for both its size and complete blackness – balancing perfectly on its tip in the center of a piece of parchment.