In a blur of squeals, tugged corsets, and clumsy pirouettes, the chamber turned into a whirlwind of color and joy.
Emma twirled in a wine-colored gown with layered skirts. "Dahhling, fetch me my parasol. I must parade down the garden walk," she said in a comically bad noble accent, striking a pose.
Sarah burst out laughing, wearing a soft sky-blue dress that made her eyes shine. "Yes, m'lady Emma, but do be careful—your royal bottom is too big for that tiny chair!"
They collapsed into each other, laughing until their bellies hurt.
They stood before the mirror, one adjusting the other's sleeves, pinning strands of damp hair, pretending to be elegant ladies of the court.
"I look… beautiful," Sarah whispered.
"You always did," Emma said, hugging her from behind.
The maids returned with brushes and delicate combs, jars of sweet perfumes and floral oils. For once, the girls didn't feel like servants, or runaways, or survivors.
They felt seen.
They felt soft. Pretty. Worthy.
