Chapter Text
At the end of an unusually empty alley, in the crook between two buildings, stood a young woman and a man. The man, who was taller than the woman, bore down on her. The woman tried to run, but the sheer brutality the man had was stripped from her a long time ago. She is not to fight back; she is to be reliant.
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The shop was dusty, as all shops full of vintage clothing were. Dim blue light dapples on the finished wood surfaces, originating from the overcast sky peaking through old and foggy glass. It was so silent the scene could be an impressionist painting, until the sharp tap of a heel on stone broke the illusion.
As the old wood creaked and the rusting golden bell rang, The girl walked in. She tracked rain onto the stale carpet below her feet. The girl, who couldn’t be older than seventeen, had black curly-straight hair and a circular face. Her eyes were large and dark, her lashes long, and her nose angular and delicate. The girl walks up to the register, and rings the bell once.
“I’ll be a second dear, just finishing up something back here!” a woman said through the open employee-only doorway.
The girl, Daphne Sanguin, was the youngest of her family. Her father had worked as a new-age industrialist after the war, working to fix the country and its economy. He had bought the entirety of what was once southern Florida from the Supreme Leader; all done in an effort to control what little peace they had left after the war. Daphne was unused to this environment, being raised in Eastern Washington, so the cool rain was a nice change of pace from the unrelenting heat and humidity. Daphne was not accustomed to Southern life.
When the lady comes out from the back, she smiles at Daphne. Daphne can’t help but think the lady is supremely ugly when she smiles, and can’t help but notice her yellowing teeth, large figure, and clear signs of aging all over her skin. But Daphne, being trained to be kind, makes sure to smile back at the foul lady. Does it really take so much effort to take care of oneself in the simplest possible ways? Lazy as Daphne is, even she takes better care of herself. She doesn’t quite understand how such undesirables can handle showing themselves in public, unchanged from their natural state; if she looked like that, she would never in a million years have lived to whatever age this woman was. Will she look like that as she ages?
“Well, what can I do you for, little lady?” The woman says. Daphne is not little.
“Just a dress for Freedom Day, miss,” Daphne softly replies.
“Anything in particular?”
“I’d like a vintage one, but anything pre-war is in style at the moment,”
“Ah! We just got a new shipment of modified pre-war style dresses from the Fed!” the lady exclaims, excited to pawn off her worthless goods to someone who wouldn't be caught dead in cheap polyester. Daphne is smarter than that. Daphne is smarter than most people; but like the polyester, she wouldn’t be caught thinking such gaudy thoughts. She pushes it away.
“Well, that sounds wonderful! I’d love to see them, if you please?” she says.
“Follow me to the back; I've a few in mind I’d think you’d like!”
Daphne follows her. The woman is slow, and waddles when she walks. How is Daphne not meant to hate her, when she’s so inefficient and clearly unambitious?
When they get to the back of the store, where the lights are dimmest, Daphne looks at the woman. Her back is turned to Daphne while she talks. This is an unconscionable mistake to Daphne. She almost wishes she could rid the world of this type of person forever. Daphne, however, is not an idiot. She will not be caught doing something unsavory by the federation, and something so disgustingly manly. So, she dismisses her thoughts. It’s a true shame she wasn’t born a man; her brother had to be taught. She, a woman, could understand many political concepts with ease. But she was reduced to a servant, a slave by a primitive society of gender.
Politics comes naturally to her, she lies. She has been trained, like all women, to be soft and malleable for a man to shape into his image; or most often, something lesser. ‘Woman” itself is an offensive term to Daphne; it implies she is of a man, which she is not. All men come from her. Society would be peaceful without these creatures of devilish disposition. Daphne was forced to be a devil’s pet, a slave, and a prostitute at her worst. But Daphne overcomes this hurdle, and every year, she becomes stronger. She can overcome her conditioning; it is not purely what the others see. In many ways, she thinks Sautre was correct in saying that hell is other people. Without them, she would be free. She can’t help but think that when Eve bit the apple, she was sent to hell, with only Adam as her punishment. She cannot help but think that Eve wasn’t ever at fault in the first place.
The clerk shows Daphne a light green dress; it’s beaded, and the sleeves are long. It has a concealed neckline, a long skirt, and a shimmer that cannot be matched by lower-quality silk. It’s nothing like a pre-war dress, as expected by a store of this caliber, but it will do. Not only this, but the dress was thin. The floridian heat will not get to her in it, like it does with all other modest clothes she owns. The dress is perfect, she can’t help but think.
After leaving the store, she walks out of the rank alleyway the store is located in. Such a gem, run by an ugly woman in an ugly place. What a shame.