In the morning, we weren’t to put on our ceremony dresses, the morning attendant said, but uniforms from the dresser—knee-length skirts made from light-brown cloth, a button-down shirt in the same color, knee socks, and canvas boots. After dressing, Esme and I stood together at the mirror and registered that, for the first time in our lives, we wouldn’t attract attention with corsets, bonnets, and dresses so long they dragged in the dirt.
“I feel peculiar with my torso so free,” Esme said, turning sideways to look at her stomach.
“We’ll expand like sponges without the bones holding us in place,” I said.
“Still, let’s wear our corsets to the ceremony later,” Esme suggested as we walked out and met the others in the lounge. “Our dresses were designed for them. If we don’t have a corset on
