The square held its breath, the air thick with anticipation that clung to everyone's skin like mist. Women in the crowd stood transfixed, their skirts still, baskets forgotten in slack hands. The sun's dying light cast long shadows, turning faces into masks of curiosity and discomfort, eyes gleaming with a mix of shock and secret thrill.
Whispers had died, replaced by the subtle rustle of fabric as people leaned in, the faint creak of wood from nearby stalls, the distant call of a vendor packing up. No one dared to move; the tension became a living thing in the open market, coiling tighter with each passing second.
Selene's hands trembled as they tugged at the laces, her fingers fumbling the knots that suddenly felt like iron chains. The dress's fabric whispered against her skin, a soft, treacherous slide that sent shivers down her spine despite the warm air around her. Her breaths came shallow, her chest rising and falling under the embroidered bodice, the material clinging to her curves as if reluctant to let go.
She could feel the weight of a hundred gazes, women's eyes wide with pity or satisfaction, and also the few men's gazes turning lewd by the second, their postures straightening as they pushed subtly forward, trying to catch more through the gaps in the throng.
One old man, half-hidden behind a fruit cart, craned his neck, his eyes hungry, lips parted in silent awe. Another, a merchant with dirt-streaked hands, shifted his weight, his gaze locked on the loosening neckline of Selene, breath quickening.
The first lace gave way with a soft pop that echoed in the quiet, Selene's breath catching, not from the cool air, but from the sound itself, so loud in the silence.
Her fingers moved to the second, fumbling as the fabric loosened across her chest. She could feel the bodice sagging, the weight of it shifting, and knew without looking that the crowd could see more now, the top curve of her chemise, maybe the shadow between her breasts.
A man near the cart shifted, and she heard his sharp inhale. 'Don't look at them, don't look at them,' she told herself, the voice in her head shaking as much as her hands. 'Just get it over with. They've seen enough. This is nothing…'
Even though she was convincing herself that they had seen enough, but the question still remained on her mind. Have they?
After all, she could feel their eyes like flies on her skin, crawling over her shoulders, her arms, the dip of her waist where the chemise clung.
She thought of her father, what would he say when he heard? The priest's daughter was stripped in the square. The thought made her want to sink into the dirt and disappear.
The dress began to loosen further, the third lace slipping free with a faint snap, the bodice parting wider, the cool breeze brushing her collarbone like an unwanted touch. Goosebumps raced across her arms, her skin prickling under the collective stare.
She pulled at the next lace, the final one, her fingers numb now, the fabric parting to reveal more of the chemise, a thin, white layer that hugged her form, the material translucent in the fading light, hinting at the swell of her breasts without fully exposing them. Selene's face burned, the red flush deepening to a crimson that spread down her neck, her skin prickling under the collective stare.
The crowd's eyes bored in; the few men present had their gazes turning lewd, their postures straightening as they pushed subtly forward, trying to catch more through the gaps in the throng.
An old woman near the front shook her head slowly, lips pursed in disapproval, not at Selene, but at the spectacle itself. 'Too far,' she muttered to her neighbor, who shrugged but didn't look away.
Near the baker's stall, a cluster of women who'd once bowed to Selene now watched with barely concealed satisfaction. One whispered something to another, and they both smiled, their eyes gleaming with the quiet joy of seeing the mighty bully of the village fall.
But as the dress slipped lower, pooling at her waist, disappointment rippled through the onlookers like a sigh.
Because instead of bare skin, her undergarments came into view, a full chemise that draped to her mid-thighs, the white fabric modest yet clinging from the earlier splash, outlining the curve of her hips and the dip of her waist. Below, large, thin pants covered her legs to the knees, the material light but opaque, barely revealing the shape of her calves. Her bare shoulders and arms were exposed, the skin smooth and flushed, but nothing more intimate showed.
The men in the crowd leaned back slightly, murmurs of frustration mixing with the women's relieved sighs, "Not naked after all," "Still, that's humiliating for her, isn't it?"
True to their words, Selene's humiliation burned regardless; the act of removing her outer garment in public felt like a strip of her pride, which was more raw than any flesh. She stood there, arms crossing over her chest instinctively, the chemise's neckline low enough to tease the swell of her breasts, the fabric shifting with her breath.
'This can't be happening,' Selene thought, her mind a whirlwind as her fingers fumbled the final lace at her waist. 'Me, the priest's daughter, reduced to this? In front of these peasants?'
The crowd's eyes felt like needles, pricking her skin, the men's lewd stares making her want to crawl away. She imagined the stories that would spread, whispers in kitchens, laughs in fields, and the thought made her throat tighten, tears pricking her eyes. 'Father will hear... everyone will hear. How do I face him after this?'
Lys watched, his expression unchanged; no surprise seemed to flicker in his eyes. The dress lay at her feet, a crumpled heap of blue and silver, the threads dull in the dirt. He had known, perhaps from a glance or from the way the fabric hung, that she surely wore layers beneath. This wasn't about seeing her bare; it was about mirroring the shame she'd forced on Mitsu, the drag through the mud, the public beating.
And in that, he had succeeded. Mitsu's grip on his shirt loosened slightly, her wide eyes peeking out, a mix of awe and gratitude softening her tear-streaked face.
As the dress hit her ankles, Selene stepped out of it with a shaky leg, the pants swishing softly, her bare feet sinking into the cool dirt. The crowd's murmurs swelled again, a low hum of disbelief, "Whoa, she really did it," "Priest's daughter, was stripped, just like that." A few women covered their mouths, others nodded with quiet approval, the air crackling with the weight of what had just happened.
Lys suddenly turned, casual as if wrapping up a market deal. He started moving, but his voice could be heard loud and clear over the square. "You can wear it back now. I'm done."
He placed his hands around Mitsu gently, one on her shoulder, the other guiding her forward, his touch steady and protective. The girl leaned into him, her body still trembling, but her steps firmer as they moved. The crowd also started to part like water, eyes following them, whispers trailing, "So, he made her do it," "And just walked away? That's it?!", the tension easing as Lys vanished into the market's fading light, leaving everyone behind.
Selene stood there, the chemise clinging to her skin, the pants billowing slightly in the breeze, her bare shoulders prickling with goosebumps.
Helga rushed to her, scooping up the dress with shaking hands, draping it over her lady's arms. "My lady... let's get you covered." But Selene's eyes stayed fixed on the spot where Lys had disappeared, her face a storm of red, the humiliation sinking in like cold water, when she realized that Lys just wanted her to strip and feel the humiliation Mitsu felt. And he has successfully managed to do it.