The gown's rounded neckline was modest and demure, the bodice fitted, but not too tight, the capped sleeves dainty. The silken hue matched that of the sky after sunset, a deep, burning blue, with pearl-stars studding the draped, flowing skirt.
Truly, I was a great, clumsy ox trying to pass herself off as a thoroughbred. I was certain everyone would be laughing at me behind scented fans.
Still, an innate, ox-like stubborness prevented my escape. If my utter humiliation was necessary for the furtherance of Ryndoon's legacy, then so be it. I would grin like a fiend and bear it.
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