I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the cuffs of my light dark blue dress coat—tailored to fit just right, with a high upright collar and only the barest hint of embroidery along the lapels. Just enough to show taste.
Not enough to scream look at me. (Unlike those peacocks who seemed to think more gold thread = more important.)
And I don't even like decorations. Honestly, this was the only one I could find with the least amount of flair.
The white shirt beneath was crisp, a faint ripple in the fabric from when I'd buttoned it too fast. The black trousers were perfectly fitted—clean and trim, without strangling my legs. Even the shoes gleamed quietly, like they'd been polished by someone who wasn't panicking over social expectations.
Not bad.
I tilted my head, examining my reflection. The sharp lines. The calm eyes. The slight lift of the collar around my neck.
"I really do look like a cool, handsome young man, huh."
Not that it mattered.
