An hour or so later, Lysandra stood in front of her mirror, wearing the dress Ismene had spoken of. She examined it on herself: a bright purple gown, the fabric smooth and flawless. The color was deep and dark, like an abyssal pool. If she could just reach for the mirror, step into it, she might be able to fall down into that pool and never come back up.

"Remiel will be here soon," Ismene said. "His family, too. Why don't you go downstairs and wait for them!"

"Sure." Lysandra ...