By six o'clock, the dorm room was pure chaos.
Freya's curling iron hissed on the vanity, an army of makeup brushes scattered across the desk, and the faint smell of rose-scented hairspray hung in the air.
"Okay," Freya said, stepping back and placing her hands dramatically on her hips. "Maeve. Look. At. You."
I turned to the mirror, and for a moment, I didn't recognize myself.
The black, sleeveless ball gown we'd picked out together fit like it had been stitched just for me.
The sculpted bodice hugged my waist before sweeping out into a full, flowing skirt that shimmered faintly when I moved. The elbow-length gloves, silky and perfect, made me feel so gorgeous.
Freya's final touch had been curling my hair into soft waves that spilled over my shoulders. My lips gleamed with a deep red lipstick that somehow didn't make me look ridiculous but… bold. Daring.
"Wow," I murmured, fingertips brushing over the fabric. "I… I don't look like me."
