For those who are new, The Butterfly Dress is a story about Flora, a girl trapped in dismal job as a seamstress and dressmaker to her cruel mother. Although she dreams of designing gowns in New York or Paris, she is forced to settle for creating prom dresses for local girls while attending class at the local college. When she receives the chance to design the Coronation Queen’s gown for a local ball, magical things begin to happen. As she dives deeper into the ball’s mysterious past and its handsome prince, it’s a pair of shoes that might lead her to her final destiny.

“Wait, Grandmother!”  Dropping Astrid’s hand, Nate rose from his wicker throne.  “I have my own announcement to make.”  He turned to Mr. Grissom.  “Sorry.”

Mr. Grissom waved his hand, avoiding the stares of the crowd as he cowered in the shadows draped over the edge of the stage.

Smiling, Nate turned to the waiting audience.  “Earlier I found this.”  He raised a silver satin shoe covered with a jeweled butterfly pendent.  Flora sucked in her breath as the crowd exhaled, their eyes locked on the glittering shoe.

“The butterfly shoe!” Professor Skippy howled.   Shoving her way through the crowd, she stormed the side steps of the stage.

“What are you doing?” Eleanor Nottingham hissed behind her grandson’s back, obviously not thrilled her surprise had been usurped.

“That’s mine!” Professor Skippy plucked the shoe from Nate’s hand, clutching it greedily to my chest.  “It was stolen from my office weeks ago!”

“Stolen from your office?” Eleanor Nottingham jammed her hands on her hips.  “Don’t you mean stolen from my storeroom years ago?”

Professor Skippy coughed, her cheeks turning pink.  “You gave them to me, remember?  In memory of…”

“Don’t you dare say it!”  Eleanor ground her teeth.  “This is all your fault, you know.”

“My fault?”  Proffesor Skippy narrowed her eyes. “I seem to recall…”

“Ladies.”  Astrid rose from her wicker throne, her crystal studded tiara glittering under the glow of the lanterns.  “Perhaps this should be saved for a private occasion.”  As the two old women glared at her, she turned to Nate and beamed.  “You were saying?”

Prying the shoe from Proffessor Skippy, Nate held it up in the light.  “What I was saying is whoever is the owner of this shoe shall be the first girl I dance with tonight at the ball.”

A trail of shocked gasps and murmurs raced through the crowd.

“Nate,” his grandmother growled, “You’re to dance with Astrid at the ball.  She’s the Queen, remember?”

“That she is,” Nate replied easily, his eyes focused on the shoe resting in his palm.  “But the girl wearing this shoe–that’s the girl I want to dance with first.”

Astrid simpered, placing a hand on Eleanor’s arm.  “It’s fine, really, Mrs. Nottingham.”

“You’re so generous.”  The words were forced out, spat in hatred-filled clumps.  Eleanor turned, her gaze slicing through the cowering gardner at the side of the stage.  “Mr. Grissom, for the love of God…”

“Yes, ma’am.”  His weathered hands shaking, the old gardener yanked the sheet off.  Flora’s knees collapsed and she hit the ground, her gaze locked on the gown under the glass bell.  The blood roared through her ears, the pounding of her heart drowning out the exclamations of the crowd.

Her grandmother’s butterfly dress.  It was more beautiful than she had imagined, than the sketches had let on.  It was ethereal, light and airy–a dream of summer.  Even from here, she could see the detail, the craftsmanship.

“As I was saying, this year, we held a contest for the best gown,” Eleanor continued, firmly back in control.  “And I’m happy to say that this year’s winner, who will take this gown as a prize…”

“No,” Flora whispered.  Rage bubbled inside her as she stared at Eleanor’s smirk, Professor Skippy’s smug smile.  “No…”

“Astrid!  The Queen of Coronation!”  Eleanor beamed as polite applause rang out.  “It is only fitting after all.”  She held out her hand, smiling.  “And your prize…”

A scream shattered the air.  Blinded by burning loathing, Flora raced up the steps of the stage, howling so loud her throat ached.  “No!  No!  You can’t!  Not my grandmother’s gown!”

“Who are you?” Eleanor shrieked, stepping back.  “What are you talking about?”

“Flora!”  Proffessor Skippy exclaimed, narrowing her eyes.

“Flora?”  Eleanor whispered.  “It can’t be.  She looks like… She’s the image of….”

“Flora?”  Astrid cocked her head.

“Flora!” Her mother hissed from below the stage.  “Shut up and get down!”

“She’s wearing the shoes!”  Mr. Grissom stepped out of the shadows, a bony finger trembling as it pointed to Flora’s feet.  “Her shoe!  She’s wearing the butterfly shoe!”

Ripping off her mask, Flora stepped forward.  “I’m here for my grandmother’s gown.”  She flung the mask down, raising her chin as she met Eleanor’s gaze.  “And I’m not leaving without it.”

Stay tuned, Invisible Friends!  We have a new Sidewalk Dreams manana!

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