Iris


    "Arms up, please, Miss Willford."


    I raise my arms dutifully as Violetta, the most sought-after human designer in Ordan, circles me with pins held between her lips. Her assistant hovers nearby, clutching a pincushion and looking nervous, as if expecting me to suddenly copse under the weight of the fabric that''s draped around my frame.


    I don''t me her; this gewn is fucking enormous.


    "A little higher, please," Violetta murmurs around her pins. "I need to check the draping on the bodice."


    I stretch my arms higher, my shoulders already aching from holding still for so long. We''ve been at this for over two hours now, and I''m starting to lose feeling in my feet. But I don''tin-not when the gown is finally nearly finished after weeks of nning.


    My debut gown. Even thinking the words feels bizarre. The ball is tomorrow, and it feels so surreal.


    "Mmm, I need to take in the waist just a touch more," Violetta says, cing a pin at my side. "You''re slimmer than our initial measurements indicated."


    "Sorry," I mutter. "Must be all the dancing lessons." And the stress, if I''m being honest; it''s been gnawing at me, and it''s been getting worse as the days tick closer to my debut. I hardly even sleptst night because I kept agonizing over the uing ball.


    She waves off my apology. "It''s no trouble. Weight fluctuates. We''re all human." She nces at me. "Well... you know what I mean." I can''t help butugh at that, and Violetta cringes as the movement makes one of the pinned portions stretch.


    I have to admit, the gown is stunning. When my mother first introduced me to the designer, she''d expected me to choose one of her standard debutante designs- something ssic and elegant, with clean lines and traditional


    beadwork.


    Instead, I showed her my paintings.


    Specifically, I showed her the one I''d done of Miles when he was barely two years old, sitting in a field of wildflowers in Bo''Arrocan, sunlight streaming through his dark hair, his chubby hands plucking at the petals.


    It was one of those perfect, peaceful moments where everything felt right.


    "This," I''d told the designer, pointing to the wildflowers surrounding my son. "I want to look like this."


    Two dayster, she presented me with a design that took my breath away. Rather than the traditional white or pastel debutante gown, she envisioned a dress the color of a summer field, a delicate sage greenyered with embroidered petals in varying shades of yellow, purple, and white-like wildflowers growing up from the ground.


    The bodice would be encrusted with tiny crystal beads catching the light like morning dew, and the skirt wasposed ofyers uponyers of gauzy fabric that would sway when I move.


    Now, standing here in the almostpleted gown, I finally feel like myself again.


    I was so afraid of losing my identity in all of this-especially after my disastrous first attempt at being Arthur''s Luna, when Selina''s old stylist had practically forced me into Selina''s leftover clothes and makeup. I''d felt like a cheap knock-off, a poor imitation of the woman who hade before me.


    But this... this is me. Even if I''mpletely, utterly terrified about the ball, at least


    I don''t feel like I''m masquerading as another person.^


    "There," Violetta says, cing the final pin. She steps back her critical eye scanning every inch of the gown." Now, let''s see the movement.”


    I carefully make my way to the center of the room, mindful of the pins, and do a slow turn. Theyers swirl around me with ease, causing each petal to catch the light as it moves. It''s like standing in the middle of a field on a breezy day with flowers dancing around my ankles.


    "Beautiful," the designer murmurs, and even her usually stoic assistant nods in agreement.


    The door suddenly opens, and Caleb sticks his head in. "Is it safe toe in? Mother sent me to check on the progress."


    "Come in,e in." Violetta waves him forward. "We''re just finishing up."


    Caleb steps into the room, and his usual confident stride falters as he catches sight of me. His mouth actually drops open, an expression I''ve never seen on my normallyposed brother''s face.


    "Holy shit," he breathes. I''m not quite sure if I''ve ever heard him curse before.


    He approaches slowly, circling me the way he did the first time we met-only this


    time, instead of assessing me, he seems genuinely awestruck.


    "Iris," he says, "you look... you already look the part."