Not tonight.
Not when Sten promised he’d see me at the festival.
Not when something inside me practically vibrated with anticipation at the thought of seeing him again.
One day apart already felt unbearable.
Which was ridiculous.
Dangerous.
Probably magically unhealthy.
But there it was anyway.
I needed him.
The realization hit with startling clarity.
Needed his voice.
Needed his hands.
Needed the way he looked at me like my softness was something holy instead of shameful.
Sighing shakily, I let my robe slip from my shoulders.
And froze.
There was a package sitting directly in the center of my bed.
Wrapped in shimmering midnight blue paper.
I blinked.
Once.
Twice.
“It’s not my birthday,” I whispered aloud.
No one sent me gifts.
Ever.
Not like this.
Carefully, I crossed the room.
The paper itself felt expensive beneath my fingers, woven with silver thread that glittered softly beneath the dormitory lights. I didn’t want to rip it, so I grabbed my letter opener from the desk and carefully slid it beneath the folds instead.
Inside sat layers of tissue paper softer than silk.
And beneath them—a gown.
I gasped aloud.
The fabric shimmered like liquid starlight as I lifted it carefully from the box.
