Truly, Desdemona felt lucky that her father had indulged her choices with her debut gown, as she adjusted the baby pink sash that ran from her left shoulder down to the hem of her gown. Little satin roses, charmed to smell like their living sisters, rested at the top of the sash and attaching it to the gown at the dropped waist, as well as decorating the left side of her skirt. Part of her was eager for the night to be over — the end of the night meant the chance to see her puppy, Artemis. She glanced over at Miss Erstwhile, smiling kindly, before her eyes met Miss Parkinson's.
She admired Miss Parkinson's bravery to insist on wearing color. The most Desdemona felt she could get away with was the sash and roses, especially given her own insistence on a bodice style from five years ago. But she despised the modern tendency toward overly poofy sleeves, and wanted something more classic. More sleek, even with the sash embellishment. Her skirt was, however, a modern silhouette, as she had asked the modiste to follow the original pattern with that singular caveat.
"Whatever happens tonight," Desdemona said, looking between each of her peers, "this is the first night of the rest of our lives. With luck, it'll be a night we never forget." One hand adjusted the light pink sapphire and silver bracelet on the opposite wrist, ensuring the double-rowed cuff lay just so. She did not wear a tiara, instead favoring more satin roses in her hair to compliment the set of earrings and choker necklace that matched her bracelet. "Good luck, ladies."
