The Good Pan Bakery
...Well, if this most recent half of her life had taught her anything, it was that she was no princess, and life was nothing like those tales they had loved so well. The pricking of a needle had never done her any more harm than some minor discomfort, and she was better with it now, anyway. Embroidery and light mending were the least of her concerns when it came to injury, now.
Perhaps she ought not to have offered to show him. Desiderio had said he wanted to see it, but he... Maybe he was just being polite, and had she been less poorly socialized, she would have known to refuse. All of this seemed an imposition suddenly, and unfair. Aurelie had been downstairs and bathed properly, shouldn't he get the chance to do the same? It was selfish of her to keep him here, when he... he couldn't possibly want...
Oh, but she was pleased with the work. And it felt to her as if she wanted to show him more than just her needlework by showing him the pillowcase, too. Like it would be proof of something she could not yet articulate. Likely she was just afraid he would ask her more about Brunnhold, and that he would not like her answers. Cowardice seemed as good a reason as any. The smile on her face didn't feel afraid, but what did she know?
He seemed to consider her request a moment, still leaning on the chair. Scandalously close, Aurelie thought again, which was absurd. He wasn't even touching her, and was in no danger of doing so accidentally. Now, she thought, was the moment he would tell her he was only being polite after all. He set the sketchbook back down on the tabletop, stepping back from her. Aurelie felt slightly disappointed, but braced herself for his refusal.
What he did instead was so— So particularly— He was like a knight in a story, except he didn't kneel down or quite say all of things she dimly remembered him telling her were said in Bastian courts of old. It was ridiculous; she felt as if she ought to laugh. She found herself of all things feeling flustered instead, watching the way his dark hair fell as he bowed. The fabric of the sash caught the light and held it; from this position she could not see the monite stitched across it.
He straightened again, and Aurelie knew she was smiling far too much, her face far too warm. "Thank you, uhm. For—" Aurelie tried and failed to think of some equally silly ceremonial response. "Thank you." It had all been, she thought, sort of... rather... cute, really. Charming. She didn't think he would like to know she thought so; Aurelie kept that bit to herself.
There was something about taking his arm when she could actually see him that was more difficult than when she could not. It ought to be easier, as there was no risk she would put her hand somewhere she shouldn't, or something equally terrible. But he looked her in the eye when he held out his hand first, then his arm; it didn't help the warmth in her face in the least, or make her feel any more articulate.
Still, she took them both. The journey from the table to her bedroom door wasn't a long one. It felt miles and miles. Suddenly Aurelie was aware of every little motion she made, exactly where her body touched his and how. She was such a fool.
For a moment after she opened the door, she just stood in the doorway. She had been in the room earlier to retrieve her things, but she hadn't been paying as much attention then, too distracted to do so. Everything was exactly as she left it—of course it was, she scolded herself, she had only been gone a few days. And Cass had said it was so, hadn't she? A wave of something soft came over her anyway. She had made everything neatly before she left for the day, corners tucked in and squared. One of her embroidery books was exactly where she had left it on the bedside table, and underneath it—the book of stories.
"I-If you just wait here a moment, I can, ah. I'll bring it out. The, uhm, the light is better in the kitchen anyway." Aurelie left the door to her bedroom open; the room wasn't large, and it was easy enough to navigate from the doorway unassisted simply by leaning against things here and there. The pillowcase was in the trunk at the foot of her bed. Aurelie retrieved it, careful not to lose track of her needle minder or make a mess gathering it up. She had left it in a good place, she noted with relief. No stray needles sticking out or bits of unfinished stitches.
"I, ah, this is it," she said as she turned and made her way back to the door, to Desiderio. She had the decorated portion tucked against her body. For not accountable reason, she felt as if she would like it to be a surprise. Saved for better light. Ridiculous.