Mum entered my room after dinner, the air shifting with her palpable excitement. She carried a large, flat box like it held the crown jewels.
"Luna," she began, her eyes sparkling. "The dress—"
I groaned, burying my face in my pillow. "If it has ruffles, bows, or looks like a cupcake, I am burning it."
"Have a little faith, sweetheart," Mum chided, sitting on the edge of the bed. She lifted the lid and peeled back layers of crisp tissue paper. "I picked it myself this afternoon."
She pulled the garment out, and my breath caught.
It wasn't a cupcake. It was stunning.
It was a column of deep, emerald green velvet—dark enough to look black in the shadows, but vivid under the light. High-necked, sleeveless, and cut to cling to every curve. It was simple, lethal, and undeniably elegant.
