Chapter Fifty-Two
Red Riding Hoods at masquerade balls tended to stand out on account of their bright red cloaks. Shepherdesses, on the other hand, didn’t draw the eye quite so much, especially when their bodices were as modest as the bodice of the costume Primrose had worn two years ago. An added bonus to Primrose’s old costume was the wig, with its profusion of pale blonde ringlets. With that bodice and that wig, and with the most concealing mask she could find, Violet knew she’d be unrecognizable. Just another shepherdess among a flock of ladies wearing costumes.
Which meant that she could dance every dance with Wintersmith without anyone knowing who she was.
Except Primrose, of course, who would recognize the costume as her own. And Rhodes, who would probably recognize it, too.
And
