I looked at her. Her thin gray dress fluttered in the wind, revealing the sheer fragility of the body beneath it. She looked like a ghost lost in the human world.
Standing next to my dark red spider-silk coat, she looked like a dull stain.
This aesthetic bothered me.
As a generalist, I favored efficiency and harmony. Her "broken" presence was a blight on my surroundings.
"We are going to a clothing boutique," I decided.
"Yes, Sir."
We entered the most luxurious boutique in the port. The shop attendant initially eyed Alicia with disgust—a broken doll wrapped in gray rags. But that look vanished the instant she saw my dark red spider-silk coat. Money was the best perfume to mask the stench of poverty.
"Change her clothes," I ordered, taking a seat on the waiting sofa and lighting another cigarette.
"What sort of style, Sir?" the attendant asked cautiously.
I looked at Alicia, who stood frozen like a statue.
"Restore her dignity. Something neat, high quality, and functional. She is not a display piece; she will be moving with me."
The attendant gave a brisk nod and pulled Alicia toward the fitting room.
Ten minutes later, the curtain opened.
Alicia stepped out wearing a flashy pink evening gown covered in heavy lace. Too many ribbons. Too 'doll-like'. She stood stiffly, her hands awkwardly clutching the skirt.
"No," I said flatly, without putting out my cigarette. "Too loud. Change it."
They went back in.
Five minutes later, she emerged again. A tight black dress with a plunging neckline. The attendant was trying to highlight her sensuality.
"No," I cut in sharply. "I am not looking for a prostitute. I am looking for elegance. Change it."
This process repeated several times. An emerald green dress (too heavy), a hunting suit (too coarse). Alicia simply complied, going in and out of the fitting room like a voiceless, living mannequin.
Finally, she came out for the fifth time.
"How is this one, Sir?"
I straightened my back.
This time was different.
She wore a practical noble-style suit, slightly boyish yet unmistakably feminine. A crisp, long-sleeved white shirt with a high collar. A well-fitted dark maroon vest. Straight-cut black trousers fastened with an elegant, slim leather belt. Clean, short black boots, and a simple black ribbon tying back her neatly combed red hair.
She looked sharp. Clean. Efficient.
The red of her vest complemented my dark red coat.
She no longer looked like a frail slave, but rather the personal assistant of a high-ranking noble.
"This..." I murmured softly.
Alicia stared at her reflection in the large mirror. For a fleeting second, a flash of confusion crossed her empty eyes, as if she couldn't recognize the dignified girl staring back at her.
"Why..." she whispered faintly. "Why these clothes..."
"Perfect," I decided, standing up from the sofa. "It suits you. Functional, yet dignified."
"Do you like it, Sir?" the attendant asked, her eyes gleaming.
"Yes. I'll take this suit. And..." I pointed to a pile of other clothes she had tried on that looked decent enough, including a silk nightgown and a traveling cloak. "I'll take all of those. Prepare five more sets in the exact style she is wearing now."
Alicia looked at me, her lips slightly parted.
"All... of them?"
"All of them."
I tossed a pouch of gold coins onto the cashier's counter.
"Wrap the rest. Send them to the address I'll write down for you. She will wear this one right now."
We dined at the finest restaurant in the port.
Class-A monster meat steak.
I ate quietly. Alicia sat in silence across from me, her hands in her lap. Her food remained untouched.
"Eat," I ordered.
Her hands moved automatically. Slicing, lifting, chewing. Precise, graceful, soundless. Dining etiquette that had been rigorously instilled in her since childhood.
But she wasn't enjoying it. She was merely refueling because she was commanded to.
I set down my fork. My appetite was gone.
Buying a human was entirely easier than making them feel human again.