Next chapter at 95 votes!
  — Dedicated to _opheee_492

  AT FIRST, ONLY MORE PIXIES erupted from the open wardrobe, tumbling over one another in their bid for freedom.
  They all stared at the wardrobe expectantly; half of them — namely Seven — not at all knowing what to anticipate.

But then Luna stepped forwards, waving out the last of the creatures from the wardrobe and then pulled forth a large black bag, much like the ones Seven had seen people use before to protect fine clothing.
Luna set it on the bed, unzipping it and then pulling out three sets of dress robes and two dresses. She set them down on the bed with a satisfied, "There."

"Luna —," Even Navy found the gall to sound wordless, mouth open but no sound finding her as she wandered forth, taking the gold fabric of one of the dresses between her fingertips. "They're — beautiful."

"Try them on," Luna said, her one silver-blue eye bright and sharp as a bullet. "If they don't fit we still have time for adjustments, though they are all fit for the exact measurements you gave."

  Seven couldn't look away from the dress, the one that must be meant for her. She'd never once thought herself pious, yet still, she prayed this dress was meant for her. She was so focused on it, in fact, that she didn't even realise that she'd never given anyone her measurements.

  "That's yours, Navy — and Bill, this one's yours. George, that one's for you. Which leaves only two."

  Draco and Seven stood side by side, irreparably close yet irreparably far, staring down at what they'd been given. Silence hummed out for one beat, two, three.

  "What's wrong?" Luna asked; dream-dazed and haplessly soft, "Don't you like them?"

  Like. The word didn't seem strong enough to convey Seven's feelings towards what she saw. Though only a few scraps of fabric to some — to Seven — it was everything. There were no words to describe the feeling that looking at it gave her. Though, perhaps home was closest.

  "Luna, please." Draco sounded pained; almost pleading as he dragged a rough palm down his face. "You promised me, anything but green."

  "Oh, no I never promised," Luna's eyes had drifted, she wasn't even looking at the clothes anymore. Instead, she stared at one of the sleeping creatures, the brown hat-looking one. And in the silence between her sentences, Seven could hear the animal's faint snores. "I only said I would try — and I did. I used the last of my gold material on Navy, and the last of my red on Bill and George, green was all I had left."

  Draco's eyes narrowed, homing in on the several rolls of coloured fabric that leant against the side of the wardrobe. "Are you lying to me, Luna?"

  Seven oddly was surprised by his calm. Surely if it had been her, he would've shouted, perhaps cursed her even — she knew he would've been sure to tell her just how worthless and unwanted she was.
  She told herself it was just because Luna was... Well, a little different. The girl clearly wasn't all there. Even Draco had enough morality left in him to go easy on dear Luna Lovegood.

  "Of course." Luna replied with a smile.

  Seven scowled at Draco, thinking him too vain for his own good, besides, the suit laid out before him was hardly green at all — it was jet black, only accented with an emerald tie that was patterned in delicate golden interstellar flecks.
  — It was Seven's dress that was green, and when the light hit it, almost violently so. But in the places where the light could not find it, the material was dark as a shadow. Practical, the thought, and perfect for surreptitiousness.
  The sight of it struck her straight in the chest, painful as a strike yet not nearly as fleeting. She loved it, as fiercely as she was capable of loving.

Seven took a breathless step forwards, taking the viridescent material between her fingertips and finding it tender as newborn clouds.

"Try it on." Urged Luna, who then ushered Draco out with his suit, telling him to find another room to dress in. He looked reluctantly at Seven before he left, perhaps thinking of his promise — though Seven didn't even notice him, transfixed by the dress.

"I can help you put it on if you'd like, the corset can be a little tricky to do alone."

"Yes, please."

It did not feel strange to undress in front of a stranger like Luna. Though not all there, there was a strange sense of comfort about her muddled presence. Seven did not flinch as the girl's cold fingertips brushed her skin, not even hesitating when Luna unhooked and removed her bra.

The dress slid on with surprising ease, but Luna was right, the corset was not something to be done alone. Seven held her breath as it was tightened and watched her reflection as her waist receded, becoming an unrealistic portrait of what a woman should be; a fantasy.
Her breasts looked swollen, forced up by the under-bust corset. Her wounds ached but it was bearable, she only hoped they didn't decide to reopen and mar her dress.

  Seven had never seen herself this way before. Though she knew she had never been ugly — always able to seduce and charm men to get what she wanted, this was as if she was seeing herself for the first time again. She never felt beautiful before now.

With a slit up to each thigh, perhaps in a more conservative district like Sloth or Greed, this amount of skin would've been scandalous. But this was Pride; where the elite competed for gossip and sordibility.
The neckline was low, dipping down beneath her breastbone to the point where it met the corset. Two gauzy strips of material crossed at her clavicle to wrap around the base of her throat.
That wasn't what stole her breath, however. Seven shifted this way and that, watching as the dress glinted in the light with thousands of tiny gold jewels; like stars.

"What do you think?"

"...It's everything I've ever dreamed of."

She wasn't lying. Night after night, on the rare occasion that sleep did find her and when her dreams weren't plagued with death and blood — Seven dreamed that she was sat beneath the stars, on a roof, in the middle of winter — snow surrounding everything except her and her little space in time, ringing like a pearly-white halo around her.

Seven blanched instinctively when she felt something soft brush her ankle, reaching for her dagger only to find it wasn't there.

"Don't worry," Luna's voice came like a hum as she scooped up the furry brown creature, "It's only Percy."

"Sorry." She sighed relief, "I didn't mean to scare him, it's just —,"

"— It's okay, I know. This world is cruel, even to the strongest of us... Especially, to the strongest of us." Her smile was faint, dream-like as she cradled the creature as if it were a baby in her arms. "You can never be too careful."

The fur-ball gave a faint squeak, staring at Seven with big, black eyes. "Do you want to hold him?"
The thing gave made another sound, its jaws stretching wide open in a yawn; revealing tiny pointed teeth.

"I — um, no, thank you."

"That's a shame." Said Luna, smiling down at the animal as it continued to glare at Seven. Perhaps it was waiting for its moment to attack her, she couldn't help but think, — to leap from Luna's arms and latch itself onto her with talons and fangs and unbridled fury, in the way only small and fluffy things may.

  "Because he wants you to hold him."

"What is it?"

"He's a stoat, remember?"

No. She didn't. Seven didn't remember anything.
  Luna took Seven's moment of quiet as permission, stepping forwards, and when Seven didn't instantly protest, placing the creature in her arms. "Here. I think you should hold him, he likes you."

It was soft; incredibly so. And at her touch it seemed to relax, curling into itself and quickly falling asleep.

Two knocks rapped against the door.

"Come in."

  Seven didn't turn away from the mirror as they reentered, yet her eyes flickered away from her dress for just a moment, catching on something dark — like a shadow in the outskirts of her vision.
  He was there, lingering in the far corner of the room, as far away from Seven as possible, dressed in black and damned devilish by the dark. Her ignoble shadow.
  Even with her back to him, there was no escaping the sight of him. Weightless, that was how she felt.

Like he'd stolen more than just the breath from her chest, and God knows he had.

  A dull ache snaked its way through her veins, and the more she looked, the more it hurt. He hurt to look at, heart-breakingly absolute. He looked back at her, too.

  Did she hurt him like he hurt her?

  But there was something about the pain, something deeper,  more complex, it was a layered thing. And she buried herself beneath it, like pressing a bruise to see just how much she could make it could hurt.
  Until she found it. There. A memory.

  It was only a single image, still and warped by time, bleeding like a photograph left out to rot in the rain.

In the image she was looking out over a balcony, far higher than she could ever remember being. It wasn't daunting though. At least, Seven didn't think so — she thought it looked peaceful, leant against the metal railing, staring out over the world beyond and feeling as though she was standing at the precipice of it all.

  The night was inky black and endless, stars glinting against a winter veil, and rogue whisper of wind appeared to toy with my hair, though frozen in place by the motionlessness of the memory.
  The stars were brighter here than Seven had ever seen them — and so close they looked close to corporeal.

  That wasn't what caught her attention however.
  Instead, it was the hand on hers.

  Seven closed her eyes as if she could feel the warmth of it through the memory. But instead she felt nothing, only the bitter bite of longing. Her hiraeth.

  This is it, she thought with tears in her eyes, this is him. My love. My letter writer... My memories.

  But fate had always been cruel and sickeningly pious, bound to uphold the curse that unknowingly crawled through Seven's veins — and it already given away far more than it should.
  The moment Seven tried to force her head away from the horizon to see her abetter, it shattered. The memory fell away, crumbling away from her grasp. Broken, falling through her fingers no matter how she tried to catch it.

  "No..." She said softly, something warm crawling down her cheek, "No..."

  Draco stared back at her. His face grim, stricken with grief and looking as if he'd just lived a memory of his own, only far less pleasant.

  ***
QOTD - Have you read my Greek Mythology retelling (The Legend of Ares) yet? Because you certainly should. I mean, who doesn't love sexy Greek gods, enemies to lovers power-play, manipulation and enough possessiveness to fill Mount Olympus ;)

In case you need a little more convincing, here's the description!

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐄|𝟏𝟖+

Bartered off alongside her sisters as little more than livestock during the annual reaping, Ophelia soon finds herself kneeling before the god of war himself, and it doesn't take her long to realise that one wrong move could mean the difference between life and death...

*You do not need knowledge of Greek mythology to read this story*