Fiona stepped through the doorway of LORDS’ TAILORS and then paused, taking the place in. Low-volume pop music played in the background; someone singing an egomaniacal ode to himself about being too sexy for sundry parts of his clothing and various other things. While that noise assaulted her hearing, the circulating aroma of an air fragrance, based on a popular and expensive perfume, invaded her nasal passages.

"Ahhh. Smell that, my love?" Shrek asked in a quiet voice, breathing deeply.

"Yes," Fiona replied in a similarly muted tone, crinkling her nose at the synthetic odor. "Stinks, doesn’t it?"

"Oh," Shrek said. "Uh, yes, of course. Well, hopefully this won’t take very long."

Fiona wasn’t paying that much attention to Shrek just then; instead, her eyes were casting about the store. From what she could see there were some dozen little areas that consisted of a stylish couch with a small but ornate table set in front of it, and on each of those tables sat books of uncommonly long and wide dimensions. Some ten of the areas had one or two people seated on the couches. All of the seated people wore clothes marking them as members of the upper class. A few were glancing through the books, which Fiona could now tell from incidental glimpses of their pages consisted of various outfit designs. Those areas whose couches contained occupants – clients, Fiona assumed – also had a man or woman of stylish dress and attractive features standing beside and talking to the clients, and in some cases he or she was holding up a dress or garment for inspection; obviously salespeople, Fiona concluded. The back wall of the store was lined with a number of doors spaced only a few feet from each other, and on each door a full-length mirror was hung. Dressing rooms? That seemed logical.

"You can see how busy our consultants are," Edwina noted. "I am quite grateful to you two, you know. Your ball tonight has generated quite a bit of business for us, including a number of celebrities."

As if on cue, two of the adjoining dressing room doors opened. Out from one stepped a comely raven-haired young woman that Fiona recognized as Snow White. From the other stepped a lovely blonde that she knew as Cinderella. They were both smiling, apparently happy with how they looked in the elegant gowns that they were trying on. Unfortunately, the gowns were exactly alike. They noticed each other at the same moment, and then both struck similarly indignant hands-on-hips poses, glared at each other, then strode back into their respective dressing rooms and slammed the doors behind them.

"Ah, yes, well," Edwina said, then cleared her throat and continued. "Let us see what we might find for you, eh?" She then whirled about and called out with a suddenness and volume that startled the royals, "CARÇON!"

Suddenly the trio was joined by a man of about thirty with shoulder-length blond hair, a slim, delicate build, and attractive if somewhat effeminate features.

"Yes, Edwina, how may I help you?" the man – Carçon, Fiona assumed – asked with a slight lisp.

"Carçon, meet Princess Fiona and her new prince," Edwina said, and then explained to the royals, "Carçon is one of our top fashion consultants."

"Oh, greetings Your Highnesses!" Carçon said, bowing deeply and theatrically. The royals nodded acknowledgments. Carçon then stood again and said to Fiona, "So you’re the legendary princess! Darling, I think your story is just so romantic. Stranded all alone, up in that nasty old tower … it just made me want to cry whenever I thought of it!"

"Well … uh … thank you," Fiona said, not quite knowing how to respond. Actually, Carçon looked like he was about to burst into tears right then. But then his eyes drifted over to Shrek, and any trace of emotional breakdown quickly vanished. Instead, the consultant’s face broke into an admiring grin as he looked the prince up and down. Carçon’s eyes seemed to be drinking Shrek in, which caused the prince to shift uncomfortably.

"You’re charming!" Carçon said.

Shrek suddenly looked much more uncomfortable. He was about to respond when Carçon continued gaily, "Absolutely charming! But I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name, Your Highness."

"Oh! Uh … Shrek," Shrek said, oddly relieved.

"Shrek?" Carçon repeated, his face contorting a bit.

"You have a problem with the name?" Fiona challenged.

"Oh, no no no, Your Highness!" Carçon answered the princess. "It’s just … well, different. But I certainly don’t have a problem with different. Believe me, I don’t!" Carçon then looked back at Shrek and added, still speaking to Fiona, "And I must congratulate you on being rescued by such a stunningly handsome, manly prince!"

"Why, thank you," Shrek said, seemingly puffed up by the compliment.

"Indeed, I can imagine the scene," Carçon said, again taking Shrek’s measure. "The prince galloping to your rescue on his gallant charger, cape flapping, golden hair streaming behind, muscles rippling as he controls the great steed –"

"Carçon!" Edwina snapped.

Carçon, whose eyes had started to glaze, looked down at his diminutive employer. "Yes, Madam Edwina?"

"The royal couple came into town to buy new attire for their ball tonight."

"Yes, well, I don’t wonder why," Carçon said, taking a moment to examine Fiona’s dress with a critical eye and a crinkled nose. "All those people out there, and you came in that thing? You’re braver than I thought!"

Fiona was taken aback. As she tried to fathom a response, Carçon turned to Shrek and said, "You really could take lessons from your boyfriend here. Now, this ensemble, although not exactly top drawer, makes a subtle but definite fashion statement."

"Do you really think so?" Shrek gushed.

"Absolutely!" Carçon said. "The way you carry yourself, you exhibit an obvious, innate fashion sense. It’s something rare among men, and often marks them as quite … special." Shrek smiled broadly, and Carçon continued, "In fact, it’s hard to imagine you stepping into your closet and coming out with anything that would do you injustice. Have you tried that?"

"Tried … what?" Shrek asked, the smile vanishing from his face and his brow furrowing in confusion.

Carçon grinned slyly and gave Shrek a conspiratorial little wink, which seemed to confuse the prince even more, and then Carçon leaned towards him and replied softly, "Have you tried coming out of –"

"Carçon!" Edwina quickly intruded. She paused to take a deep breath, and then continued with more composure, "Since you believe Princess Fiona is in need of the most help, why don’t you take her aside and help her select something appropriate?"

Carçon’s face broke into distress. "But Madam Edwina!" he objected, "I think I’d feel much more inspired if I could handle the prince."

"No!" Edwina said with finality. "This is a very special night for the kingdom’s new male heir. I insist on taking care of his needs myself." She then grinned up at Shrek.

"Very well," Carçon said, somewhat in a huff. He then looked at Fiona. "Come along, Princess," he said, his voice dripping with disappointment, and then began heading towards an empty couch.

Fiona glanced back at Shrek, but he was staring down at Edwina, a look of trepidation on his face, as the designer beamed up at him. Fiona rolled her eyes and followed Carçon.

"Now, you stop right there," he said as they arrived beside a vacant couch. She did so.

"Hummmm," he mumbled, resting his right elbow on his left palm and tapping his chin with the fingers of his right hand as he scrutinized her figure with analytical intensity.

"Turn," he said.

"Pardon?" Fiona asked.

"Turn turn turn," he said, removing his right hand from his chin and making impatient little circles in the air with its index finger.

Fiona sighed and then turned, making a three-hundred sixty degree spin in a compact, graceful little circle, the bottom half of her dark green dress billowing out slightly like a bell.

"Oh, dear," Carçon sighed, shaking his head. "Christmas tree chic. Honey, has anyone ever told you that green is simply not your color?"

Fiona’s face scrunched in irritation. "No," she stated. "In fact, I’ve been told quite the opposite –"

"Well, they lied," Carçon said. Then his demeanor took on a more professional quality as examined Fiona’s figure and features, tapping his chin and ignoring her indignant glare. A few moments later he snapped his fingers, his eyes grew wide, and he exclaimed with a suddenness that made Fiona flinch, "Sequins! Yes! A white sequin dress. With a pearl necklace … not a full strand, we don’t want to be gaudy, just a few to accent your features and … hummmm. Do you have a silver tiara?"

"What? Uh, yes. I mean, I think so, back at the castle," Fiona responded.

"Oh, good," Carçon said. "The gold one you’re wearing now simply would not do. Let’s see, I think I have a dress just like we need right over here." He hurried over to a dress rack set against a wall at the side of the store. There was a window beside the rack and Fiona saw a few of the townspeople looking through it, jockeying for position to get another glance at the royal couple. Fiona blushed self-consciously. She looked down shyly and rubbed her left arm with her right hand. Then she looked over at Shrek. One of Edwina’s assistants had just brought over an armful of exquisite and expensive outfits. She was proudly gesturing to them as Shrek’s eyes grew wide and an expression came into his face like a child’s in a candy store.

"Here we are!" Carçon gushed, causing Fiona to jerk her head back towards him. Her entire field of vision was suddenly filled with a field of fine white cloth studded with pearl-like sequins.

"It’s not an exact fit, of course," Carçon said, lowering the dress from where he’d been holding it up to her face, "but with a nip and tuck here and there, you’ll look just fab. Here, go try it on. The sooner you’re out of that mold-green thing, the better for us all."

Carçon thrust the dress into Fiona’s arms. "But – " she began.

"Go go go!" Carçon said, and physically ushered her towards the nearest dressing room. When they reached it, he opened the door for her and nearly shoved her in, then closed the door behind her.

Fiona turned to give the door a glare, but found herself staring at her own reflection. There was a full-length mirror on the inside of the door as well as the outside. In fact, the three walls of the little cubicle surrounding her all had mirrors on them. There was also an empty clothes rack in a corner and a small bench built into the wall opposite the door, just below the mirror there. Into that same wall and above the mirror, just above eye level, was a roughly two-foot square window. It was made up of ornate stained glass depicting a handsome kneeling prince presenting a beautiful princess with a red rose. The thick colored glass prevented any prying eyes from seeing inside the little room.

Fiona sighed, and then slid off her green dress. She hung it up on the rack, then pulled on the white sequined gown. It was a good fit in most areas, but was a bit too wide in the shoulders and a bit too narrow along the waist. She examined herself in the mirror. She had to admit, she did look quite beautiful in the gown. So many women would envy her. Fiona tried to make herself feel good about that, and her appearance in general. But despite her efforts, her feelings were more closely attuned to the way she felt on the day of her marriage to Farquaad, when she first tried on her wedding gown and stared at her reflection while the ladies attending her gushed over how she looked; all the while her thoughts were on Shrek, who she thought she’d never see again, and who she simply could not get out of her mind.

Fiona shook her head to break her lapse into remembrances past. She then took a deep breath – as deep as the dress would allow – and opened the dressing room door. She stepped out to find Carçon waiting for her. He looked her up and down and then flashed a broad grin. "Oh, Princess, you look absolutely magnifique!"

"You think so?" Fiona asked, and then looked over towards Shrek, intending to ask his opinion. But she saw he was completely enthralled in examining his own reflection in one of the outfits he had tried on, and in which he did cut a dashing image. Fiona sighed then turned back to Carçon as he kneeled and straightened her hem.

"It fits in most places so well already!" he said.

"It’s a bit snug in the waist," she noted.

He stood up and scrutinized her waist for several seconds, his brow furrowing. "Hummmm," he eventually said. "Yes, you need to lose weight."

Fiona’s eyes bulged and her jaw dropped. She looked down at her stomach, suddenly wondering if the spell were wearing off and she was resuming ogress form. But no, her waist was as slender and fit as when she awoke that morning. "How thin do you want me to be?" she asked half-rhetorically.

"How thin can you get?" he responded matter-of-factly. "You can’t be too rich or too skinny, you know."

Fiona glowered at him as he continued studying the dress, and she was about to respond when he said, "Well, we can’t worry about that today. I could take it out along the middle, or … better yet, let’s get you into a corset."

Fiona set her jaw. "I am not wearing a corset," she stated through clenched teeth.

"Oh, come, Princess," he said. "All proper young women wear corsets."

"And who says I want to be a proper young woman?" Fiona snapped, her temper starting to wear thinner than her waist. "I’ll neither starve myself into emaciation nor endure some medieval torture device just to satisfy the ludicrous dictates of so-called fashion."

Carçon stared at her as if she’d just spoken a blasphemy.

Fiona sighed, trying to recompose herself. "I’m sorry," she said. "I just think – "

Then her eyes chanced upon the window beside the clothes rack where Carçon had pulled the dress. There were still several faces there, gawking in at the royal couple. One, a very still one, was familiar.

It was the dark-haired stranger.

He was staring through the window at her, that oddly forlorn expression on his face again.

Fiona froze. What was with this man? Was he following her? Stalking her? She wondered briefly if she shouldn’t alert Shrek or Hoariman after all. But no. No, Fiona could sense no nefarious designs. Perhaps the stranger simply felt compelled to catch one last glimpse of her before walking out of her life forever.

Fiona blinked. That was an odd leap of logic, if ‘logic’ it be. Besides, how could he walk out of her life? He wasn’t in it. He was just a face in the crowd. True, a particularly handsome face, with an expression inconsistent with the crowd’s general merriment, but beyond that he meant nothing to her. Did he? No, of course not. Yet Fiona felt like she was touching his mind on some elemental level, as if there was some mystical connection between them. Or magical. Could the man be a warlock, or some sort of svengali, casting a spell on her? No. Whatever this ‘connection’ was that she was feeling – or, granted, perhaps imagining – it was less than that … and yet more. It didn’t make sense. Like so much else that day, it just didn’t make sense.

Suddenly, as if reading her own mind, the man stood back, resolutely screwed his face into a look of determination – which nevertheless still bore stains of sadness – and then turned and strode away. But he did not move in the direction of the main street. He instead headed in the direction of the alley that led, among other places, to the back of this store.

Fiona’s thoughts suddenly began racing at a level beyond logical consciousness, a level that told her she had to find out what that man was about. She quickly glanced over at Shrek. He was still admiring himself, lost in his gorgeous reflected image as Edwina tucked at his outfit. For once Fiona was glad he wasn’t paying attention to her. But another quick glance told her that Sir Hoariman and the other knights were positioned at strategic locations around the large room. There would be no way to get out of the room without the security knights’ notice, unless …

"Let me just get your measurements –" Carçon was saying, taking out a measuring tape.

"Actually, I’d like to try another dress first," Fiona said, and suddenly dashed over to the dress rack.

"But –" a befuddled Carçon began to protest.

"Sorry," Fiona said, grabbing a dress at random and dashing past him back towards the dressing room. "I saw something that I simply couldn’t resist!"

Carçon opened his mouth to protest again but Fiona slammed the door in his face and quickly latched it. She dropped the dress she had grabbed to the floor, and then she leapt atop the little bench and fumbled with the window latch. In her haste it took a few seconds but she finally unlatched it, then placed her hand against the frame with the illustration of the idyllic prince and princess and shoved it aside, opening the window and giving her an egress. She quickly pulled herself up into the opening and started trying to squirm through it. She grunted with the effort. As she struggled, the rational part of her mind had a moment to kick in. Fiona, what are you doing? it asked.

"I need to find out who that man is," Fiona said aloud, between grunts.

"I don’t know," she murmured. "Maybe I’ll know that … once I find him …"

As Fiona continued struggling her left ring finger stuck in a small crevice in the outer part of the stone window sill. As she pulled her hand back to free it, her wedding band caught in the crevice and slid off. She heard a soft ‘ting’ as it fell to the rocky ground outside the window. "Oh, no!" she gasped, and then struggled even harder.

Fiona pressed forward. She heard brief ripping sounds as the dress tore in a couple of places, and she muttered a muted oath. Then, suddenly, she was through. She dropped the six feet from the window down to the ground below, landed awkwardly on her heels, and fell backwards onto her bottom, uttering an indignant little ‘urk!’ as she did so.

She had managed to ‘escape’ from the store, from Carçon, from the knights, and from her husband. It was something for which she felt a brief, thrilling sense of accomplishment, followed by a longer and deeper pang of guilt.