If there was ever a night designed to make you cry in public, it was this one.
“The Candlelit Revel,” Lira called it, as she fastened something sparkly around my neck. “Night of Lanterns. We carry what we hope for into the dark, so the dark knows we do not fear it.”
“Cool,” I said. “Love a shared emotional breakdown as a theme.”
Nyre snorted from where she was pinning my hair. “You sound like Evren,” she muttered.
“Do not insult her so,” Soren said, deadpan, then ruined it by grinning when I caught her eye.
Tonight’s dress was deep blue, almost midnight, with tiny beads that caught the light when I moved. My hair was half up, half down, curls tumbling over my shoulders. I looked like I belonged in a galaxy-themed perfume commercial, which was a step up from “depressed admin in fleece
