New Faces, Fashion Statements, and Fashionable Statements shine at the Annual Nugu Festival Gala
Written by Sajoni Vandu
3 Avena i1196
Published independently after being rejected by Pradita Journal
The lights from the freshly born were as bright as Pradita’s beautiful, talented, and important as they celebrated and displayed this season’s latest looks and set the trends for the year, entering the annual Nugu Festival Gala, a famed start to Pradita’s social season. Lucky are the few who enter the famed ballroom of the Ufti family estate, though the elusive ticket to entry, this year set at a surprising two thousand rhags (notably twice the annual income of fisherman in the Valakarma district of the city), did not stop the willing mob of onlookers as they crowd the street in front of Ufti Gardens to watch the parade of pulchritudinous and prominent of Pradita’s population enter the historic event. Will the increase in ticket price mean more free access, food, and pleasure for the rest of us at this year’s festival? Only time will tell.
But not just the cost was new this year. Lining the streets and separating the stunning procession of youth, beauty, and power was the famed Praditian Karumal Guards, personal retinue of Nanpia IV, Mankara’s Living Autumn Mother and matriarch of the Goshaka family for over a decade. Nary a word was said among them, or to them, as they stood relentless and resplendent in their formal uniforms and shimmering black capes made of the karumal feathers, the symbol of all things Pradita and, of course, Goshaka.
But who should be those worthy of walking the gilded, indigo, and ebony carpet this year? Who among us is blessed to receive the famed, spice-scented summons? Surely some of this year’s cortege would surprise even the most sycophantic followers of the social season, as would the dress on display. The shake-up of the usual famous faces and families is undoubtedly connected to the shining spears and ebon cloaks lining the street, protecting the attendees as they enter. Gone is the garish daring of the last few years. The brilliant, sometimes overt but often subtle, challenges to the norms and standards of our day. Well…almost all gone (keep reading).
Of course, our Living Autumn Mother has made clear to us that she is in no way involved in the culling of elite names to the most elite of annual events, and we, of course, have no reason to doubt her. And yet, the rumbles of the streets, the clandestine and contraband trove of information leaking from the Eternal Library like a broken filter at Gotha’s Teahouse has put all of the Cheric Court on edge. The show of strength, the display that the Peacock Throne will cherish its definition of law and demand of order, was as much a theme of the evening as its formal one - Abundance and Charity - the former being more present than the latter.
Abundance was on full display as the first unexpected arrivals began walking down the carpet. Not a budding starlet of the New Opera House, but Lida Davrhi and her husband Vende, the magnates of Mankara’s famed popular entertainment export, puyi para. Many readers would not dare enter the small coliseums to watch the sanguine pugilism they push weekly. Still, Lida’s presence here, resplendent in an elegantly wound gown of glittering gold, reveals the truth of the pastime’s popularity to our city’s most prominent. Designed by the (in)famous and once-rejected, now-returned Kulikhalam, the subtle embroidery lining the traditional garment is as outspoken in its statements as Leda herself, a known critic of Pradita’s famed and beloved education center, the Pradita Kallikam of Philosophy and Letters. Many of the school’s illustrious educators, including my well-known wife, fear her growing influence will only exacerbate the antagonism between them and Living Autumn Mother. Her dress, though, was resplendent.
After the arrival of the Davhri, it shouldn’t have been as shocking as it was to see Khana Mallavar arrive soon after. The rising political prodigy, known fashionista, and Nanpia flatterer sauntered with the kind of confidence only someone from one of the wealthiest of families can afford, and her gem-studded, extra-traditional, extra-modest, and extra-need to have servants, children from the Valakarma dressed traditionally— (shirtless (of course) in classic, simple servant bandoos wrapped around their waist and legs and shaved heads— carried her extra-long and extra-radiant train. No need to find the wonder of the designer here, this attire is well-known in the circles that know. Khanta’s ancestor wore this garish gown to the mass execution of the first founders of The Shroud of Freedom. Rumored to have taken a hundred servants a hundred hours each to complete it, the Mallavar family has undoubtedly made one of the biggest statements of the year, telling the world they are back and ready to return Pradita to their definition of greatness.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
And then, there was Bhasu Goshaka. Or rather, there was supposed to be Bhasu Goshaka. Our Living Autumn Mother’s known and sometimes beloved grandson, a staple at the gala for years, rarely seen without one of Pradita’s most eligible and most beautiful daughters on his arm, was, in fact, not seen at all. Noticeably absent at formal functions since the mysterious tragedy that his grandmother forbade any press to print, the rumors of Bhasu’s reemergence tonite from his self-imposed social exile was perhaps only the dreams of those attendees who so often found themselves clinging to Bhasu, determined either by marriage or orbit, to find a way to achieve the grandeur only possible through the intergenerational imperial ascendance that defines Goshaka family’s influence.
But this was not to be this evening. Instead, the initial cheers and applause as the Royal Palanquin arrived, bejeweled and gilded with karumal feathers, carried by only the most formal and well-trained Karumal Guards, were soon replaced with gasps and shocks when an unknown young woman took her place on the carpet. No designer I know of would have dared the sumptuous simplicity of her outfit - a simple sheer cloth bleached white, wrapped expertly around her light frame, and underneath a white pajama set with little adornment to be seen. Clean and well-kept, the bold whiteness of it was accented only by the dark amber of her skin and her straight black hair, covered by a simple shawl of the same white fabric. While unusually clean and pristine, this outfit is well-known by all in attendance, seen often, daily by many, though they likely choose more often than not to ignore those who wear it. It is the costume of the women of the Valakarma. The working poor of Pradita. The weaverwoman, the cooks, and the cleaners. And here was this young woman, no name or family to speak of, walking barefoot (but clean)upon the royal lilac reserved only for our city’s elite.
If words and explanation were expected, none came. She walked calmly towards the entrance, her eyes focused ahead of her, careful to ignore the whispers that soon became audible objections and the occasional jeer and taunt. It took six guards to restrain bulky blowhard General Kutti from storming the carpet, and he was rumored to declare he would “drag her by her hair” off the carpet. It has also been rumored that she stayed only a short time while the gala took place, seeking a private audience with our Living Autumn Mother, receiving it, then quietly leaving through the servant’s entrance and disappearing into the night.
None of this can be corroborated, of course. What happens inside the Ufti Ballroom remains a well-guarded secret known only to those who attend. Bhasu’s antics will undoubtedly be the scandal of the season, maybe of the century, recalling the infamous murder on the sands of the Buwuu Arena by Shroud Member VZ Yagar five hundred years ago. Could it portend another such uprising? And could our Living Autumn Mother’s own grandson be involved? One thing seems abundantly clear…we have been warned.
Oh, and there were plenty of other fabulosities I could write about, dresses and robes to die for, golden spectacles of entrances by court-beloved poets and dancers, politicians and nobles, all of which were less interesting variations on the theme of the evening. So who cares? What else could matter in this moment of portentous predictions?
Are you shocked at what happened, dear reader? Are you even more surprised that our wonderful and formal journal of note rejected my coverage? For both, you should be. It is a minor miracle my words found you, and my gratitude is boundless that you read them, for they will likely be my last for a while. I have an audience with our Living Autumn Mother tomorrow, and we shall see what she thinks. I hope her devoted readership and my years of trusted devotion keep me from the infamous pens of Pradita Prison. Until that happens, even if you don’t see it, my pen will continue pushing ink upon scroll, and hopefully, those words will get to you as well.
Remember to take care of the ones you love, including your favorite shawl.
Sajoni
Thanks for reading! Tell me what you think and give the Liberated Archives a follow if you are enjoying it!
Like/Follow the World of Kir page(s) to keep up\ with this and other projects! And if you are interested in a deeper dive, join Patreon for exclusive content!
Patreon:
IG:
Bluesky:
