Oh My, I Messed Up the Story

Al loved my black sweater so much that he refused to give it back; claiming it was too comfortable and I would be fine since I had more sweaters on the way.

I couldn't dispute that. My pale, blonde complexion didn't look as good in black as he did anyway.

When we went back to the shop to pick up my appropriately sized sweaters and pajama pants, he ordered more for both of us.

The shopkeeper was thrilled because Al offered a hefty tip. I also picked up more thick socks while we were there and bought what was meant to be a child-sized pair of boys' pants for myself when we inevitably played in the snow.

The cold wind and heavy clouds in the air looked promising and I wanted to be ready.

While we were still in town I picked up the other makeshift snow clothes I had previously ordered for both of us, including fur-lined boots. All I had to do now was put that oil on the wool and we should be set.

It was one of the few things I was looking forward to.

We barely made it back in time for dinner but since I wasn't appropriately dressed Al claimed that I didn't feel well and requested food be brought to our quarters.

No one cared enough to question him. Apparently Al had a history of not showing up for meals before I came along. I couldn't blame him after seeing his interactions with his family. If I were him, I would avoid them too.

I wanted to try on my fuzzy new pajama pants so I went to the bathroom and swapped them with my skirt. They were better than I could have dreamed of.

Sure, they were plain white instead of covered in cutesy patterns like I was used to but I would take it! The shopkeeper had made me four pairs so I could stay cozy all winter long.

"What are those?" Al asked in confusion.

"Nightclothes! So my legs stay warm. They're super soft," I said dreamily.

"You look like a cute little sheep," he teased, walking over to pat me on the head.

I looked down at myself and saw that he had a point. My sweater was white today too and I was wearing black socks that could be seen as hooves.

"Very funny."

"Baa." He grinned at me, his hand still on the crown of my head. "Want to play cards?"

"Sure."

I sat cross-legged for the first time in forever, basking in the glory of my pajama pants as we played Spit by the fire.

I used to sit just like this with Abby in our pajamas on Saturday nights in her bedroom playing this very game. This was the most normal I had felt since coming here and it was fantastic.

***

"I do believe you have started a trend," Mariela said with a small laugh as she watched Al turn and go to fetch us some treats as we worked on writing out copies of my draft.

She was referring to the red sweater he was wearing. Winter was fully upon us and Al had nearly as many colors as I did now on top of the black one he stole from me.

I was beyond relieved when we were able to pick up the last of our order before snow made the roads impassable.

A four-day-long blizzard continued to rage as we spoke. I couldn't wait to go outside once it subsided.

"What can I say, sweaters are a wintertime must," I shrugged. "Arizona isn't nearly as cold as here either! I wouldn't survive without them."

"I am tempted to get one myself."

"You should!" I encouraged. "I can order one for you. The shop I go to usually caters to the merchants who live in town but the goods are high quality."

Mariela would be stunning in a lavender sweater. Who was I kidding, she would be stunning in anything. She wasn't called the jewel of Shibatsu for no reason.

She smiled. "I would like that. Anyway, these drafts look fine though Alpheus' handwriting is a bit small…"

Small? You practically needed a microscope to see it. Apparently when he was younger his tutor taught him that way and he couldn't write large if he tried. That was what he said anyway.

Personally I thought he was doing it on purpose to give his brother a hard time. He hated Sigmund but didn't seem to like Franz any better.

"That's putting it generously," I chuckled, leaning over her shoulder to see the extent of the damage.

I hoped people would still be able to read it or the copies would be useless.

He only volunteered to do this so I wouldn't get carpal tunnel. If I had to rewrite them anyway it would all be for naught.

"I come bearing the specialty of the day: custard tarts," Al announced as he barged back into the office.

My mouth watered slightly but Mariela grew pale and clapped hand over her mouth before hunching over and vomiting into the wastebasket.

I cried out and rushed over to her as she continued heaving and Al set the tray down with a clatter.

"Mariela, what's wrong?!" She couldn't respond.

She was too busy puking. I looked up in a panic and ordered, "Al, go find the court doctor! Then Franz! But the doctor first!"

He nodded and rushed out the door, wanting to get away from the vomit smell as quickly as possible.

Once she stopped, I gently led her to the couch and fluffed the pillows for her so she could lie down, promising that I would be right back with a maid to clean up the mess. She nodded weakly and didn't speak.

"The tarts smell horrible," she moaned once I came back and the maid took the wastebasket away.

I gave them a precautionary sniff. I didn't smell anything weird. Taking a tiny test bite, they didn't taste weird either.

I put the metal dome-shaped cover that Al had pulled off when he came in to show off back over the plate and she relaxed a bit. How strange.