The Seventh Stone

Chapter Sixteen

I don't think I've ever stared so long at my own reflection.

Not because I like what I see, no—that's not why my jaw's hanging open. It's the fact that I look like an American Girl Doll that sneezed and accidentally birthed a thousand ruffles.

"Are there any others left?" I turn to the young handmaiden who'd dropped off the collection of dresses.

She shakes her head politely, otherwise refusing to speak to me. I can't say I blame her entirely, I'm not sure I'd have anything nice to say, either. At least this dark cobalt dress is in my color wheel, and from the chest up, I'll look more or less presentable.

The strange, hook-shaped iron I'd also been given seemed pretty intimidating at first—it might've produced lovely curls if I hadn't decided to stick with my natural waves. I did use the iron to flatten them a bit though, to give them a slightly more 'intentional' appearance. With the slightest bit of powder and makeup, I'm good to go by nightfall.

At least, that's what I keep telling myself—again and again on my ride down in the glass elevator. The handmaiden, Yliana, was supposed to ride down with me... But there was no room in the elevator for both her and my skirt. I stare down at it contemptibly as the elevator settles onto the pad, and shuffle out awkwardly as soon as the doors open.

Just in and out—I don't need to stay very long. I can say hello to everybody and be back in my room in no time at all.

I turn to the right, headed toward a small hallway leading to one of the halls I've never been in before, where the event is being held. Thankfully, there're no people in the hallway to see my awkward waddle, probably because of my own slight tardiness. If anyone asks, I'll blame it on the skirt somehow, and move about the event very slowly. No one will argue with that—or me, if they want to keep breathing.

From around the corner, I can see that the doors are closed—even more so, it turns out I'm not alone out here. A tall, lean figure is standing before the door, with his back facing me. I stumble over my ridiculous heels as soon as I see him, and he turns toward the abrupt noise. A pair of light, blue eyes connect with mine immediately.

Loki—of course it's Loki. Standing tall and proud, half-turned with his arms crossed, in his usual gleaming suit of black—no cape this time.

His soft, widened eyes fall suddenly to my dress, and visibly stiffen. I freeze in place, staring at him intently as his lips curl inward against each other slightly, pulling the corners of his mouth down in an expression of great restraint. I'd like to think my makeup covers the hot embarrassment that's filling my cheeks.

I sway in place awkwardly for a moment—trying just as hard as he must be, to find something to say.

"Um..." I mumble, letting out a slight chuckle as I gesture to the dress. His eyes dart up to mine. "Think you could, uh—do something about this?"

The subtle hint of an amused grin suddenly grows into a broad smile, as he bursts into laughter. "Oh I'd be happy to," he croaks, parting his arms with a wave of one hand.

A familiar flurry of rushing fabrics breaks out over my skin with a flash of light and pressure—lifts me slightly off the ground. I look down to see the ruffles gone—replaced by a sleek, form-fitted gown of a slightly deeper shade, gleaming under the bright lights of the hallway with its off-shoulder neckline, and loose sleeves tumbling along my arms. A delicate, sheer sash trails over my shoulder from the center of the cleavage, completing the elegant look.

I run my fingers over the soft fabric, squinting to see the invisible threads before dropping my hand down, and sighing heavily with relief. "Oh thank God..."