Private A Perfect Fit

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre pushed open the polished glass doors of the boutique, the soft chime announcing their arrival. The air smelled faintly of fresh fabric, perfume, and waxed wood, a blend that always made her feel both excited and slightly overwhelmed.

Rows of gowns hung on satin-lined racks, sparkling under the warm, diffused light. Some shimmered like captured starlight, others draped elegantly in soft, flowing fabric. Iandre's fingers itched to touch, to feel the weight and texture, though she reminded herself to hold back—she wanted to save that for the right dresses.

Glancing at Zara, she offered a small, excited smile. "I'm nervous…But I can't wait to find something perfect. For the wedding—and for you, as my maid of honor." Her voice was bright but carried the tiniest hint of anticipation.

She stepped further into the boutique, eyes scanning the racks, imagining the special day, the soft music, and the faces of those she cared about most. Every gown seemed to hold a promise, a story waiting to be lived. "I want it to feel…magical," she admitted softly, half to herself, half to Zara, "like it was made for the day."

Her heart fluttered a little at the thought, and she glanced back toward Zara, a hopeful glint in her eyes. "What do you think we should start with? Something classic…or something a little bold?"

Then, to lighten the tension, Iandre picked up a glittering lavender gown with exaggerated ruffles and held it against herself. "Or…we could start with this and see if I can survive walking without tripping over a cloud of fabric," she said with a small laugh. "Although, imagine the wedding photos…Epic, right?"

She tucked her fingers into her pockets, grinning as she glanced at Zara. "Honestly, I'm half hoping I end up in something totally over-the-top, just so you and I can have a good laugh trying to convince the attendants it's 'the one.'"

The boutique felt alive with possibility—the quiet hum of attendants, the rustle of fabric, and now the soft echo of laughter filling the space—a perfect beginning to a day meant for friendship, fun, and finding the dresses that could make dreams feel real.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara tilted her head, arms crossed, watching Iandre hold the lavender explosion of tulle and sequins against herself. "Epic?" she echoed, one perfect brow arched. "Darling, that thing looks like it mugged a fairy godmother."

She stepped closer anyway, fingertips brushing the ruffles with curiosity. "Although," she added with a smirk, "if you're going to make a grand entrance, you may as well do it like a comet: loud, bright, and impossible to ignore."

Her tone was teasing, but her eyes softened as she looked at Iandre. Zara could feel the excitement buzzing around her friend, the quiet nerves buried beneath it. She reached out, straightening a lock of Iandre's hair. "You'll be radiant no matter what. I mean, you're Iandre. You could show up in a paper bag, and people would still cry from the sheer emotional damage of your perfection."

As she moved through the racks, fingering silks and sequins, a different thought took root: Rellik. The name alone made her lips purse. Zara had smiled through the engagement dinner and the endless congratulations, but even now she couldn't wrap her mind around him. Rellik, with his smug grin and his air of ownership. His charisma felt bought instead of earned. She wanted to shake Iandre sometimes, just to make sure she was awake.

"Bold," Zara declared suddenly, plucking a gown the color of molten gold from a nearby rack. The fabric caught every flicker of light like liquid fire. "Classic is for women who want to be remembered as 'elegant.' Bold is for women who want to be remembered, full stop."

She held it up against Iandre, grinning. "Now this? This screams you. Well, the you I know. Not the one marrying Mr. Boring."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre tilted her head, lips curling into a small, fond smile at Zara's commentary.

"Epic mugging a fairy godmother?" she repeated, letting out a quiet laugh. "Well…I suppose a little chaos in tulle is appropriate for me. A joke, of course. I wouldn't dare subject anyone to that for real."

As Zara stepped closer, her fingers brushed through Iandre's hair, straightening a lock with an easy confidence. Iandre let herself relax under the touch, a quiet warmth spreading through her chest. She appreciated how easily Zara could read her, how she could tease without ever diminishing the quiet seriousness beneath her calm exterior. It's why I wanted her as my Maid of Honor, Iandre thought, she understands me… and she'll keep the day from feeling too suffocating.

"It does feel…like me," she admitted softly. "Bright, impossible to ignore…maybe a little reckless. But at least it doesn't clash with the wedding colors—grey, blue, and gold. Rellik would approve of the restraint…at least in color."

Iandre's eyes flicked to the gowns scattered around them, swirling with metallic threads and subtle shades of grey and blue.

"Molten gold, huh?" she said thoughtfully, tilting her head at the dress Zara held up. "Bold, yes… but that belongs to you, not me. You'd steal every glance in it."

A faint laugh escaped Iandre as she met Zara's grin.

"Well, if you insist on upstaging the bride, I suppose I can't stop you," she said warmly, teasing. "But save a little chaos for the wedding day. Rellik deserves the full effect—and I need a little chaos of my own."

Stepping back, Iandre let her gaze sweep over the racks of dresses. Shades of grey, blue, and touches of gold caught her eye, each gown whispering possibilities. She picked up a delicate slate-grey silk, running her fingers along the fabric.

"This one…simpler," she murmured, tilting it against herself. "Rellik would approve, I think. Understated, elegant…not like that tulle disaster from earlier."

Her eyes then drifted to a deep sapphire gown, the gold embroidery tracing subtle constellations along the hem.

"Ah…this one speaks to me," she said softly, holding it up. "Bold without being loud, just enough shimmer to catch the light…the kind of gown you remember without needing to steal every glance."

She glanced at Zara, raising an eyebrow with a slight smirk.

"Your molten-gold choice might rival this, but…I think I can tolerate a little friendly competition," she added, letting a flicker of amusement cross her features. She's going to make my day easier just by being herself, Iandre thought. If anyone can manage the chaos of my wedding day alongside me, it's Zara.

Iandre moved slowly down the aisle, fingers grazing fabrics, imagining each in the light of the spire's halls, each a subtle reflection of the wedding's colors and her own quiet strength. She felt a calm gratitude for Zara's presence, a reassurance that the day would have its proper mix of elegance, fun, and friendship.

Zara Saga

 

[Zara Saga]

Zara watched Iandre carefully consider the sapphire gown, a slow smile spreading across her face, a mix of admiration and a touch of amused disbelief. "Of course you'd pick the one that looks like it was spun from moonlight," she murmured, her voice heavy with familiar exasperation. "Understated, elegant... all those empty words Rellik probably has embroidered on his pillowcases."

She moved around Iandre, examining the dress as if it were a priceless gem. "But I'll give you this... it's stunning. You'll look like a secret everyone dreams of keeping." Zara's fingers lightly traced the embroidered constellations. "Still," she added with a knowing glint in her eye, "I firmly believe gold would make you look divine. But if you're determined to play the part of all restraint and grace, I'll let you have your little fantasy."

Her grin flickered, softening as she grew more serious. "You really do love him," she said, her tone lowering. "That much I still can't quite grasp. But I suppose that's the very nature of love, isn't it? It rarely makes sense to anyone on the outside." She let out a dramatic sigh, flicking a nonexistent speck from Iandre's dress. "Just promise me he won't be in charge of the music. If I'm forced to slow-dance to something that sounds like a funeral dirge, I swear I'll start a riot. A glitter-fueled riot."

An attendant materialized nearby, and Zara, ever the showman, snapped her fingers. "Two fitting rooms," she announced with authority. "One for the bride, and one for the dangerously blonde woman who fully intends to make her look utterly outshone." She winked at Iandre, casually slinging the molten-gold gown over her arm.

As they walked towards the fitting area, Zara leaned in conspiratorially. "You know," she whispered, "you could still bolt. I've got a speeder parked outside, complete with a very convincing fake ID with your face on it."

Iandre Athlea​

 

[Iandre Athlea]

Iandre turned with a quiet laugh, the sound low and genuine, the kind that always seemed to slip through the calm surface she so carefully maintained.

"Moonlight, restraint, grace—" she repeated with a faint smirk, "you make me sound like a painting Rellik keeps to remind himself I exist."

She glanced at the sapphire gown in the mirror, running her hand down the fabric thoughtfully. "But it feels right. Something steady, something real. You know me, Zara—I'd trip over anything too bold before I made it down the aisle."

Her eyes softened when her friend's teasing faded into something more sincere. "I do love him," she admitted quietly. "He's... unexpected. Steady in the way the galaxy rarely is. I don't know that it makes sense even to me, but when he looks at me, I stop feeling like I'm still in the war."

The small smile that followed was wistful, but warm.

Zara's quip about the music drew a light laugh from her. "If you start a glitter riot at my wedding, I'll deny all involvement. Though," she added, glancing at Zara's golden gown, "something tells me you'll make sure everyone sees you before they even notice the music."

When the attendant appeared, Iandre gave her friend a mock look of exasperation but followed her toward the fitting rooms anyway, the weight of ceremony replaced—just for now—with something light.

As Zara leaned in, whispering her offer, Iandre paused in the doorway of her fitting room. "A tempting offer," she murmured, "but I think running away from a Diarch might start a diplomatic incident we'd never live down." Her gaze softened, fond and amused. "Besides, if I ever do run, you're coming with me."

With that, she disappeared behind the curtain, her laughter soft but real—the sound of someone who, for once, allowed herself to be happy.

Zara Saga