Elara started getting ready an hour earlier than necessary.
Not because she was nervous, not because she wanted extra time to look perfect, but because waiting in this house did not feel like rest. It felt like being placed on a shelf. So she moved. She did something. She controlled what she could.
The dress had arrived that morning in a garment bag, delivered without ceremony. Black, floor-length, clean lines, no dramatic slit or sparkling distraction. The kind of gown that made a statement by refusing to beg for attention.
Ivy Caldwell had sent a short message with it.
Wear hair up. Minimal jewelry. Neutral makeup. No statement lipstick.
Elara read it twice and did what she always did when someone tried to dress her like a symbol.
She followed the instructions, but sh
