The End

     During breakfast, I received troubling news in the form of a letter. Glimmer slid it into my lap silently, tears staining her cheeks. Scared, I stopped mid chew and examined the glossy picture adorning the front of the postcard. "Saluti da Italia", or greetings from Italy, was embossed on the card. Anxiously, I turned to the back and instantly recognized the scrawled handwriting of Signor Volpe. "TTI has been disbanded. You must make it back to modern day before midnight tomorrow. I'm sorry." Now I realized the source of Glimmer's distress, and a matching tear dropped into my omelet. No longer relaxed, I immediately started plotting my next move. Where should I go for one last trip? In an instant, the answer came to me.
     The sounds of antique car horns and clacking heels brought me to 1920s Paris. The Eiffel tower stood alone in the sky, defying gravity. Florists sold daisies and the aroma of baguettes wafted towards me. Before remembering my purpose of being here, I gawked at the culture surrounding me. Then I recalled my mission. Inspiration. I started marveling at the revolutionary clothing worn by the short-haired women strolling through the streets. Low-waisted shifts with art-deco patterns and tight cloched hats exuded chic sophistication. I even saw women sporting the rare trouser.
     After spending my last day sketching in the park and eating buttery foods, I reluctantly returned to New York. The crowds almost knocked me off my feet. My head still full of knowledge, I walked to my condo and started sewing. Magic flowed through my fingers as I melded modern colors with the silhouettes and attitude of vintage French fashion. Turning out piece after piece, I realized that my work could be turned in for a grade. My college professor at Parson's institute of design would love my originality. I had found my senior theses. 
     Toting my full collection with me the next morning, I entered the now familiar campus that had become my home. When I entered my design theory classroom, my heart jumped to my throat. At the front of the room stood my fashion icon, Betsey Johnson. Her original style had made me want to become a fashion designer. She announced that she was retiring and was here to find a new prodigy to inherit her dynasty.  For the next hour, she inspected the work of my peers. Eventually, she reached my station. She reacted immediately, her face morphing from distaste to awe. She had nothing bad to say. My clothes were fresh and in, but original and creative. Within the day, I had obtained 27 stores and a custom line. Betsey gave me the opportunity to apprentice with her over the summer, and she said that by fall, she would be able to retire knowing that her legacy would be maintained.
     Looking back as my life as a time traveler, I realized that my experience had been life-changing. It had made me the person that I was today. The journeys had been worth the time I sacrificed, and I was sad that they had to end. Although I couldn't imagine life without TTI, I was ready to go on a new adventure in modern time.