“It’s very old,” the dry cleaner said, examining the faded fabric. “It will take special chemicals… could be awfully expensive.”

“I’ll pay anything!” The girl’s earnest voice rose above the hum of laundry machines. “It’s a very special dress – my mother wore it until she went to skate in heav—”

“Okay,” she said, cutting short the insipid story. “I’ll do what I can. Pick it up on Tuesday.”

***

A few shakes to dislodge the dust, fabric softener spritzed under the arms for the smell, and a plastic sheath; that and a €110 pricetag, and the dry cleaner was done.

Ahahahahaha. Oh dry cleaner, you cunning minx. Charging 110 for fabric softener and a sheath? ILU.

The hollow drip of the shower. The ever-present smell of cleaning solution; underneath it, faint, mildew mixed with the dull tang of sweat-soaked material.

Ignoring her surroundings, she takes the dress carefully off the hanger and holds it to her face. Although her mother has been dead for years, she can still smell lavender and ice as she breathes in, and there is a sting behind her closed lids.

“Mama,” she whispers.

Carefully she slips the thin material down over her unitard. She looks in the mirror, shakes her blonde curls, wipes the tears away.

For you, Mama.

Oh my! That's lovely. And it's about Stella. My brain cannot comprehend this paradox.

LOLOLOL that icon. Too perfect. <33333333

Yeah, I'm with Lil. This shouldn't be successfully working the Stella woe. Why does it?? OMG you have broken some kind of careful universal balance and we're all GOING TO DIE.

Beautiful job, love, so evocative. Smelling lavender and ice moves me particularly, IDK why.

"That's my mummy's favourite skating-dress, it brings me luck, it comforts me, It reminds me of her."

Stella would go on endlessly about the dress, putting it on, then carefully placing it back in the cardboard box.

Her father viewed this with mixed feelings. On one hand he was happy that she could draw so much enthusiasm and optimism from the little flowery fabric, on the other hand with growing woe that she somehow might find out that actually her mother was buried in her skating-dress and he had given little nagging Stella the emergency-copy which had never been worn.

D'AWWWWWWWWWWWW. Poor wee Stella! *pets her*

Oh, perfect! Precious mother's precious skating dress is just some replacement rag! I love it <3333

(also, why is tiny!Stella kind of cute with her cardboard box?? What is this madness?)

Anton hands her the dress with pride and nostalgia warring in his chest. Stella. His precious little morning star. She reminds him so much of Christa it hurts; when she's not with him, the bright colours of the circus fade.

He knows it can't last forever, this life washed grey without his glittering snowflake. Eventually he'll find a way to bind her, as he did with Christa. It was his job to secure her rope the day she fell and smashed her kneecap, the day her skating dream ended. She never blamed him, nor will Stella. Their glow is his.

*points to icon*

Eeeeek! Psycho Anton is Psycho! And I can totally see him doing something twisted like this, justifying it as being for their own good. Gaaaah shivery goodness!