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You are wearing what is affectionately known by Mitzi, your handmaid, as The Killer. You could never show yourself in this dress in Altmark or Sternbergen. But this was neutral territory, thousands of feet in the air. No chaperone or stuffy countess would be here to take this away from you. You were itching for the opportunity to show it off, and when Alejandro asked you to wear your best this evening (which you casually pretended to talk down), that was all the excuse you needed.
Made of exquisite midnight blue and shimmering taffeta, its bodice is adorned with a myriad of intricate patterns formed from the finest lace. It contrasts your dark-red hair, which for this evening is modestly, but intricately tied in the Eastern fashion (the better to show off your shoulders), with one central curl in the back, held in place by two long ivory hairpins. The skirt of the gown cascades to the floor in subtly alternating shades, and the hem is adorned with silver thread and embroidered bouquets of [i:lit]Belle-de-Nuit[/i:lit].
The neckline of the bodice is just low enough by the standards of the Continent to be called daring, but not low enough to cause a scandal here. A choker of soft velvet encircles your neck, at its center an unassuming sapphire pendant. A delicate fall of lace trails from each wrist. Your evening gloves (only the finest Karelian kid leather) extend to your elbows. Your fan is a delicate masterpiece of peacock feathers and carved ivory.
You must admit to yourself that so far, the effort seems wasted. Alejandro had promised you a pleasant evening, but so far it was an absolute bore. You'd have to scold him later. Perhaps you'll even have to pout a bit - you haven't decided.
