[Lavinia's POV—Dawnspire Wing]
I stared at myself in the mirror like it had just personally betrayed me.
"Wow," I whispered, blinking slowly. "I look… I look so ugly."
Like… genuinely tragic.
Mud-brown hair hanging like sad noodles. Brown eyes so dull they could bore holes into wood. My face was pale, ghostly even, like I'd been haunting libraries for 300 years. And those dark circles? Iconic. I looked like I'd been crying in poetry corners and listening to sad harp music every night.
And to top it off?
A plain, itchy, oversized black robe.
No lace. No frills. No sparkle. Just fabric that screamed: 'I am allergic to fun.'
I turned to Brother Lysandre, horrified. "Can't you at least make me pretty? I mean, a little blush? A different nose? Something?!"
He averted his gaze like a criminal avoiding eye contact with the judge. "Nope. This way, no man will try to flirt with you. It's good for your health."
"…You're cruel."
"Thank you," he said, with zero remorse.
