(14) An Excess of Orange

The walls were stuffed full of sumptuous gowns, the bright colors reminded me of wrapped sweets in a shop. I looked down at my stained tunic in it’s dull forest green and felt simultaneous excitement at trying on the gowns and apprehension about fitting in with this land full of its tall, slender, blonde women. I was short and my face had been gaunt from stress, but I was nonetheless more curvy than the women I had seen thus far. I pulled a bright green dress out and the servant lady made a small cough noise. I turned to her and she looked up saying,

“If it pleases you madam, the King favors orange.” Then she bowed her head and fell silent, her message delivered. She must have been referring to John. I looked around the closet, picking at the bright dresses until I found one that was entirely orange. But it looked too small for me. I had more stomach than this dress was made for. When I heard a rustle behind me I saw the servant holding up a strange device that looked like a corset of old with new nobs and buttons attached. She held her hand out for the orange dress and took it and the corset into the bedroom. I started pulling my clothes off and I tucked them under the bed in case she wanted to dispose of them. She fitted the corset around me, pulling the strings in quick motions that caused me to gasp. Then she started pushing buttons and turning nobs on the small box attached to it. The sound of a small airlock whooshed and I felt my waist shrink impossibly small. Something inside of me seemed to shrink as well. I opened my mouth but was unable to speak because of how tight my midsection was being squeezed. She unhooked the control box and I heard a lock click, letting me know that I was going to be unable to get out of this corset. I was only able to move around the room very slowly. I looked in the long oval mirror and saw that I cut quite a figure before my vision was overtaken with layers of orange fabric as the dress was thrown over my head. The dress looked stunning on me, but it clashed violently with my red hair. The full skirt puffed out at my hip and flowed several feet behind me, it was a rich taffeta fabric with large puffed sleeves that ended at my elbows and dripped in a long point to the ground. My bare neck was fitted with a large jeweled necklace and my hair was grabbed with the hands of the woman. My mobility was severely restricted so I was unable to do anything but try to reason with her verbally. My voice was high, as though I had jumped several octaves up. 

“Please”, I said breathlessly, “don’t touch my hair.” She didn’t listen to me, but grabbed a brush and started pulling it through my hair with quick, jerking motions. Tears of pain and sorrow dripped down my face as I sat helplessly. After two hours of this a great amount of hair was on the floor at my feet, having been rent most unkindly from my aching scalp. My hair was frizzy to the extreme, but mostly straight now. She took a large vat of a hot blue liquid and jerking my head back, poured it all down my hair. When I was allowed to sit back up I saw in the mirror that my hair was now waist-length, silvery blonde, and stick straight. She then started pulling it up and piling it onto my head. She stuck it full of orange feathers and jewels. Thick make up was caked on my face and my lips were painted orange. A pair of orange gloves and shoes completed the outfit. The shoes had a platform on their base that was 3 inches high, which just helped the 8 inch stiletto heals bring me up to her height. I tried to take a step forward, but I wobbled and collapsed in a chair, breathless sobs threatening to make me pass out. The woman then pushed a few buttons on that small control box and my feet worked of their own accord. I stood up and pranced around the room as though I were a ballerina. My hands and arms moved with a motion that seemed like a professional dancer. I was being controlled. This woman had fitted me with clothes that contained some controlling devices.