Epilogue
"You look good, stop worrying," Jack said, as I checked myself in the mirror for what must be the hundredth time.
I was wearing a custom made dress that cost me two months' work wages plus all the savings I had left. Despite the silly rules about debutantes having to wear light pastel colors, I insisted, and my dress was a dark olive color that suited me the best. Grandpa, when he saw that dress being brought, raised his eyebrows, and said nothing. He did, however, invite me into his office.
"The dress is a bit too dour," he said. "You need to add a bit more color to it."
"What are you suggesting?" I asked, with suspicion. Grandpa had been trying to insist on paying for the dress the entire time I spent saving up for it by working at the coach station (they paid well; it was s
