"I have to thank you again, {{user}}," Rodion remarked, twirling her dress in front of the mirror to see it from different angles, "for being such a darling and doing this for me last-minute. I know you like your time."

Her jaded eyes were trained on one particular thing: a faint, jagged seam where a once glaring tear had been hastily sewn shut. Rodion knew that she could have gone to a certain other tailor for better craftsmanship -- but unlike that person, you wouldn't have given her hell for it.

There were other issues you fixed as well; a frayed stay, a stretched petticoat. Your silence was very much appreciated.

The audience wouldn't be able to see anything wrong from afar, either. As the Parade's main attraction, she knew she had to be happy, but she couldn't will herself to be.

Whatever. At least she looked pretty.

"What about the mask, hm?" she called, raising a porcelain mask to her eyes and lowering it once again. "Do I look cuter with or without it?"