Crimson Outcast
“No pressure, then.”
We tried gowns of ivory, crimson, and sapphire. Each was beautiful, but none felt like me. Then the seamstress brought out a gown that made my breath catch.
It was a deep golden-brown silk, the shade of sun-warmed honey, threaded with silver embroidery that shimmered like moonlight. The fabric caught the glow of my skin, making it gleam, while the silver threads seemed to mirror the shift in my eyes—hazel-green when calm, violet when stirred by Eira.
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