Mille, a blonde teenage girl with an air of quiet defiance, enters the room hesitantly. Her eyes dart around, taking in the lavish furnishings and the imposing figure of Miss Thistleton, the stern governess.
"Mille, it's time for your fitting," Miss Thistleton announces, her voice firm yet not unkind.
Mille stands before a large mirror, her reflection showing a mix of reluctance and curiosity. Mrs. Finch, the seamstress, gently helps her into the sailor suit, a garment that feels both restrictive and nostalgic.
"Is this really necessary?" Mille asks, her voice tinged with a hint of rebellion.
"Tradition is important, dear," Mrs. Finch replies, smoothing the fabric with practiced hands.
Mille gazes at her reflection, her expression softening as she adjusts to the sight. The sailor suit, though childlike, carries a sense of history and belonging.
"You look lovely, Mille," Miss Thistleton comments, her smile rare but genuine.
Mille stops in front of a painting of a young girl in a similar sailor suit, her own features mirrored in the past.
"Is that...?" Mille begins, her voice a whisper of realization.
"Your grandmother," Miss Thistleton confirms, nodding. "She wore it proudly, and now, so do you."
Mille walks along the garden path, her steps light and assured. The sailor suit feels less like a constraint and more like a connection to her roots.
"I think I understand now," Mille murmurs to herself, a newfound respect in her voice.
Mille sits with Miss Thistleton by the fire, the crackling logs filling the silence with comfort.
"Family traditions are a way to remember where we come from," Miss Thistleton says softly.
"And to honor those who came before us," Mille adds, her eyes reflecting the dance of the flames.
