The Renaissance Woman is at Home Wherever She Goes

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About the Images

If you’re a fan of Apple TV+’s Foundation series, you might agree with me that Serena (a.k.a. Selene St. Clair) is giving off some serious Demerzel vibes in this look.

Today’s feature is the Raina dress by Belle Epoque, created for the August round of Collabor88. This gown is pure elegance, with ten rich color options and a striking floral print across the bodice. I especially love the details: the delicate straps that tie into bows at both the front and back add just the right touch of softness and charm.

Be sure to stop by Collabor88 and try a demo—you won’t want to miss this one!

Full credits are below the story. Store and event SLurls are available on the Store & Event Links page.

The Story

Lady Selene St. Clair glided across the courtyard of her manor with the quiet elegance of someone who knew every eye lingered upon her. The pale silk of her gown swayed like moonlight on still water, its embroidered bodice whispering of wealth that could only be afforded by a woman of her station. She was the daughter of merchants who had grown richer than some dukes, and through careful marriage and sharper wit, she had risen to a place where noble families sought her favor as often as she once sought theirs.

Yet wealth alone was not what made Selene the subject of murmurs in the taverns and whispers in the churches. The question that hovered in every corner of town was whether she was, in truth, a witch.

Selene encouraged neither rumor nor denial. She entertained bishops and magistrates with the same serene smile with which she greeted village children. At her door, priests found her pouring tea, yet peasants swore they had seen her alone in the garden at midnight, the stars bending toward her as if drawn by unseen cords. No one could say for certain, but her very presence seemed touched by otherworldly grace.

Her gardens were her sanctuary. Behind high stone walls grew herbs that did not belong to this region—mandrake, foxglove, and night-blooming jasmine whose seeds had somehow crossed oceans and borders under her care. The poor came to her gates for remedies: poultices that stilled fevers, tonics that softened grief, and powders that made the weary sleep. She gave freely, yet those who took her gifts sometimes trembled as though her kindness carried a hidden price.

One spring evening, the air thick with blossoms, a stranger arrived. His wagon rattled with vials, scrolls, and instruments unfamiliar to the villagers. A traveling scholar, he called himself, though his eyes flickered with something far more dangerous than curiosity. He introduced himself as Matteo di Rossi, and he requested lodging at Selene’s manor.

Selene accepted with her usual calm, though her servants noticed the way her hands lingered on the doorknob, as though she already knew what fate she admitted.

Matteo was relentless in his inquiries. He praised her beauty, marveled at her wealth, but returned always to the same questions: How did she procure such rare plants? How did she know the exact tincture to soothe a coughing child? How could she, with a touch, calm a horse no rider could tame?

Selene answered with polite evasions, but one evening, as the sun bled into the horizon and the lanterns in her courtyard flickered alive, Matteo pressed her too far.

“You are no mere woman of learning,” he said, leaning forward across the table where wine glowed like rubies. “I have seen you whisper to plants, and they rise straighter as if hearing. I have seen your eyes catch the moonlight in a way no mortal eyes should. Tell me, Lady St. Clair, what are you?”

Selene’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “What you wish me to be?” she replied.

And with that, the candles in the room guttered out, though no wind stirred. When the flames returned, Matteo sat back pale, as though he had glimpsed something vast and unknowable behind the softness of her face.

He departed early the next morning, his wagon lighter than when he arrived, though no one could say what he left behind. Some whispered that Selene had traded knowledge for silence. Others believed Matteo had fled, terrified of what truths he uncovered.

As for Selene, she walked once more among her gardens, her skirts brushing against foxglove and rosemary, her pale hair catching the dawn. The villagers still came to her, and the priests still preached, but no one dared accuse her directly. For whether she was witch or saint, healer or sorceress, one truth was certain: Selene St. Clair was not a woman to be crossed.

And in the quiet of night, when the moon rode high, her shadow often seemed to stretch just a little too far, as if it belonged not to the earth, but to the stars.

CREDITS

Lady Selene St. Clair

TRUTH Lullaby
Angel Eyes Messy 18 Hairbase
IKON Possibility Eyes
Glam Affair Lune + Eyeshadow, Blush & Lip Toner
Tutti Belli Sunkissed Freckles
Yummy Pearl Earrings
AvaWay HER MAJESTY Necklaces Set (@ Collabor88)
Belle Epoque Raina (@ Collabor88)