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One day in her cozy little home, Matilda decided she wanted to spend her afternoon playing dress-up. Because her mother was a designer and master seamstress, Matilda had more custom clothes than just about anyone she knew of. This would have been a more impressive attribute if she had known more people. She toddled over to her large closet, having to throw her entire body weight into sliding one of the doors open to reveal rows and rows of frilly pastel clothing and accessories in every muted shade imaginable. Her mini chimera wings flapped in excitement as she dove right in.

Matilda peeked her little horned head out of the closet, having rummaged around all of thirty seconds before her mother called her into the studio. She had only been able to extract two articles of clothing from the color-coded racks, both containing the least amount of frills and lace and all around girly-ness. Nevertheless, she slipped them back on hangers and stuck them on a rack before flouncing out. "Coming mom!" she chimed, skipping into the studio and leaping onto the small raised fitting platform in the middle of the room. "Can I choose the garments this time, mom? Can I?" she begged, her fluffy tail curling around her feet.

Matilda was so incredibly pleased that she could pick her own outfits for the upcoming season that she didn't notice her fabric color choices. Visions of big comfy sweaters and jeans, jackets free of sparkles and bling, and other fun and cozy knitted articles of clothing zipped through her mind, picking and piecing articles of clothing she had seen on older nightmares at the academy and adding her own little style to it. The closest thing the poor little chimera-imp girl got to pants were leggings and tights, always paired with frilly or flouncy skirts, usually trimmed with lace or another elegant sort of flair. When Tilly's eyes landed on her three color choices, her heart sank a little, her visions flying straight out of her head and crowding with new little flouncy dresses that were just too much. Her ears drooped a little, and she stopped bouncing on her heels, then remembered she had to mask some of her disappointment. "Um . . ."

The little imp struggled to come up with some excuse, avoiding her gaze as her eyes rested solemnly on the pastel fabrics. As soon as she realized that her eyes would give away the issue at hand she dropped her stare to her little feet. This was her mom's domain, and she didn't want to possibly disappoint her if she didn't want to wear the style of clothing she specialized in anymore. She couldn't help that she was growing out of it, both physically and personally. She wanted to be her own person, but was so worried about her mom getting sad that she was about to give in, but decided that now was the time to stand up for herself. "Mom . . . I don't want to wear big frilly skirts or pastel colors and tights anymore." She met her mother's eyes with her own as she breathed her statement quietly, waiting to see the sadness her statement caused cloud her eyes.

Relief flooded through Matilda's tiny little body, her wings shaking a little bit from the stress being released. She was so glad that her mother wasn't offended by her desire for her own unique style, and what was even better was that she would help her create it! The little girl broke into a teary grin, hopping down from the little pedestal and wrapping her fluffy arms around as much of her mother's full skirt as she could. "I'm so happy, Mom. I can't wait to start designing! Can we go get new textiles? And go looking for some inspiration together?"