I was sitting in a navy-blue gown that pooled neatly around my legs, the fabric smooth and cool against my skin. It had a soft satin sheen that caught the light whenever I shifted, dark enough to look almost midnight in the shadows, but brighter where the sun touched it.
The sleeves were fitted at the shoulders and flowed looser at the wrists, giving the whole dress a quiet elegance that made me feel strangely exposed and safe at the same time.
Flowers had been tied into my hair earlier that afternoon—small pale blossoms woven through my silver strands, their petals resting lightly against my temples and over one shoulder.
The scent of them was soft and clean, faintly sweet, and every time the breeze brushed past, a loose strand of hair moved across my cheek.
Elaine sat across from me with a sheet of paper in one hand and a pen in the other, as if she had been writing something before I interrupted her.
