South of SomeWhere (-Editing-)

|Say Yes...to a Dress|

"Could you just make this thing a little tighter before I die of oxygen starvation," I pant gripping my waist. "I'm still going to find out what happened with you and my daemon."

"He's not yours!" she almost practically screams, her voice tense. Then, she chuckles. "It can go tighter you know that right?"

My eyes widen. "In that case I'm good, and I was just playing you know that right?"

"Of course. Now close your eyes," she instructs as she rips the pale paper.

"Why? Are you really some ax murder out to get me?" I joke.

"No, I just want it to be a surprise."

I close my eyes compliantly. "Heck With It" is my motto. I hear rustling, and quiet footsteps lead walk over to me.

"Hands up." I dutifully raise my arms. Cloth as soft as water flows down my body. My arms go through the sleeves, and Faelion laces up my stays. Taking my by the hand, she pulls me in the general direction of the mirror.

"Open your eyes." I do, and I gasp.

The dress is black as midnight and hugs my curves exactly. It trails to a point in the back leaving excess cloth for a small train. All this I see, but what catches my attention is the red and gold flames sewn into the hem of the skirt. They lick up the skirt and appear so real. The tight lace sleeves that cover my hands somewhat are dyed a brilliant shade at the shoulder that blends into black.

"How did you come up with this? I turn and Faelion looks nervous.

"I dreamed it," she responds her voice coming out as a squeak.

"It's..." no words can describe it, but I pick one close, "...stunning!" Her face lights up like a thousand watt bulb.

"You really mean it?"

"Of course!" I exclaim.

"You're not mad?"

"Why should I be?"

"It's a black and white ball. You're going to stand out like a peacock among ravens."

I pause. "This is real" the tiny voice inside my head says. "You're a queen. A leader. People look up to you, and you have to take care of them." There's no backing down now.

"Just as well," I say. I twirl and the fire looks like It's consuming the dress with all it's crackling glory. "I am a queen after all."

∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞∞

The gigantic French doors to the ballroom are shut, but I can still hear the talking, laughter, and music. I wring my hands. How many people were on that invite list? 200? 300? 500? More?

'You can do this!'

My heels click in short staccato bursts as I pace, stop, and then pace some more. I hear the herald announce my name.

"HER ROYAL HIGHNESS WAVERLY ANN STANTON!"

The doors open, and I step forward trying to look like nobility. It's eerily silent, and I can practically fell the judgment. Delayed reactions happen when some people gasp. Someone swears. A thousand eyes stare at me, and I stare back and descend the stairs. The music starts up again. The buzz of voices is louder than ever. I hear snatches of talk as I weave through the crowd.

"Her dress! Isn't it..."

"Look at her hair!"

"She's awfully tiny and short."

Someone appears at my elbow. Auntie. "Remind me to fire that fay who made your dress the second the ball is over," she hisses while maintaining a constant smile. Before I can stop myself, my temper flares, and I clutch her arm, my nails digging into her skin.