looking for, because we could spend a hundred years up here without coming to the end of it all. I see yellowed wedding dresses, stacks of old photographs, hand-knitted baby blankets, worn leather shoes.
There’s a whole box of gowns from the 1920s, beaded, feathered, and draped. They must be worth a fortune to the right person. They look like they should be displayed in a museum.
“Hold on,” I say to Klara. “We’ve got to look at those.”
She pauses in her search and I open up the box of gowns instead, pulling them out of their tissue wrappings.
I can’t believe how heavy and intricate the dresses are. They look hand-sewn, each one representing hundreds of hours of labor. The materials are like nothing you’d find in a store nowadays.
“We have to try one on,” I say to Klara.
She touches the fringed skirt of one of the gowns. I can tell she finds them as fascinating as I do, but she’s not a rule-breaker. The gowns are in this house, which means they belong to the Beast.
I don’t give a damn who they belong to. I’m putting one on.
I pull out a blue velvet gown with long, floating butterfly sleeves. The deep V in the front goes down almost to the waist, where a jeweled belt sits. I put it on over top of my bodysuit, amazed at how heavy it is. I feel like an empress. Like I should have a servant carrying my train.
Klara looks at the dress, wide-eyed. I can tell she wants to try one, too.
“Come on,” I coax her. “No one will see us.”
Biting her lip, she makes her choice. She quickly strips out of her awful maid’s uniform. If there’s any evidence that Mikolaj is a monster, it’s the fact that he makes her wear that awful thing day in and day out. It looks hot and uncomfortable.
Klara actually has a lovely figure underneath. She’s fit and strong, probably from lifting and scrubbing all damn day.
She pulls out a long black gown with silver beading on the bodice. She steps into it, and I zip up the back. Then she turns around, so I can admire the full effect.
It’s absolutely gorgeous. The gown has a near-transparent bodice, thin black mesh with silver moons and stars embroidered across the breast. The drop-waist is covered by a long, dangling silver belt, like something you’d see on a medieval gown. With her black hair and dark eyes, Klara looks like an enchantress.
“Oh my god,” I breathe. “It’s so beautiful.”
I pull Klara over to a dusty old mirror leaned up against the wall. I brush it off with my hands, so she can see her reflection clearly.
Klara stares at herself, equally entranced.
“Kto to jest?” she says softly. Who is that?
“It’s you,” I laugh. “You’re magical.”
My dress is pretty, but Klara’s was made for her. Never did a piece of clothing fit someone so perfectly. It’s like the seamstress looked a hundred years into the future for her muse.
“You have to keep it,” I say to Klara. “Take it home with you. No one knows it’s up here.”
I say it in English, but Klara understands the gist. She shakes her head wildly, struggling to undo the zipper.
“Nie, nie,” she says, pulling at the back. “Zdejmij to.” Take it off.
I help her unzip it, before she tears the material.
She steps out of the dress, swiftly folding it up and stowing it back in the box.
“To nie dla mnie,” she says, shaking her head. It’s not for me.
I can tell that nothing I say will convince her.
It’s tragic to think of that dress moldering up here in the attic, with no one to use it or love it like Klara could. But I understand that she could never enjoy it, worrying that Mikolaj would find out. Where would she wear it, anyway? As far as I can tell, she spends all her time here.
We put the dresses back in their box, and Klara pulls on her uniform once more, itchier and hotter than ever by comparison to that gorgeous gown. Then she searches through a dozen more boxes until she finally finds the one she was looking for.
“Tam!” she says happily.
She drags out the box, thrusting it into my arms. It’s heavy. I stagger under the weight. When she lifts the lid, I see dozens of slim, long spines, in a riot of colors. It’s a box of old records.
“Is there a record player?” I ask her.
She nods. “Na dół.” Downstairs.
While I carry