She tightened my corset, though I fought her for every inch of breathing room, and carefully readied the green silk gown with the high, structured collar.
She did my makeup with precise strokes, concealing the faint dark circles under my eyes from my two sleepless nights, and styled my dark hair into an elegant, intricate updo that left my neck bare.
By the time I stood in front of the full-length mirror, the anxious, dream-haunted Kayla was completely hidden behind the flawless, unreadable mask of Lady Irene Solyne.
As we both finally came downstairs, the heavy scent of fried sausages and toasted bread drifted from the dining hall. I had absolutely no appetite, my stomach churning with a toxic mix of anxiety for the tea party and nerves for the midnight meeting.
