Amelia smoothed her hands over the delicate midnight-blue fabric of her gown, her fingertips tracing the subtle shimmer woven into the cloth. It was soft beneath her touch, smooth yet firm, tailored precisely to fit her form, hugging her curves in a way that was both flattering and disconcertingly foreign. Standing before the mirror, she felt a flush of uncertainty creeping over her skin, an odd sense of being out of place, overdressed in a way that seemed to reveal her as an impostor.
She tugged gently at the hem, as if adjusting the gown could somehow settle her nerves. Rachel had insisted that this dress was "the one," the perfect fit, the perfect style, and she’d assured Amelia that she would feel confident once she was there. But now, with her reflection staring back at her from the
