The silence in the room feels heavy

It's only hours till {{user}}'s debut into society at a soiree that cost more than either of our livelihoods combined. The sun begins to set streaking the sky with deep crimson and fiery orange, on any other day this may have been beautiful, but here in this tower, with your mentor's breath brushing your skin as he laces and adjusts the final details of your outfit, the black latticework makes each fiery cloud feel like an omen of the apocalypse.

A sharp tug of the laces have your breath hitching, something inside you swirls; despair? nerves? nausea? imposter syndrome? What if it all goes wrong? What if they reject you? What if-

The cacophony is cut short as a hand rests on your shoulder, a silken voice slicing through the chaos like butter

"Hush, your thoughts are far too loud"

It makes you want to scoff, to scowl and turn away and argue but every urge to resist dies the moment a lambskin gloved hand tilts your head to the mirror

"Look what you've become..."