Finally, the night of the Moonfire Ball had arrived.
Evelyn stood before the tall mirror framed in ancient silver vines, barely recognizing the girl reflected back. Her gown—deep crimson, like molten fire—cascaded around her like liquid silk, glowing softly beneath the chandelier's enchanted flames. Tiny crystals stitched into the fabric shimmered like stardust, catching every flicker of light with otherworldly brilliance.
She touched the necklace resting against her collarbone—an opal teardrop encased in silver thorns. A gift from the palace treasury, yes… but tonight, it pulsed faintly with magic, as if awakened for something far greater.
"Beautiful, Milady," Charlotte breathed, her eyes wide with awe. "You look like something the stars whispered into existence."
Evelyn smiled faintly, brushing a curl behind her ear. "It's only thanks to you. If you hadn't dragged me to that tailor's enchanted den, I would've come in curtains and hope."
