It’s then my eyes alight on the most stunning dress I’ve ever seen. The material is bright red, the neckline low, with a bodice that laces up the back. I circle the mannequin, admiring the fall of the long red skirt, and I think of the stone encased in the locket around my neck. Red. The color of home. Of the legacy that was taken. Of the rivers of blood that will run from the Aurora King when I finally get my revenge. “This one,” I say. “I want this one.”
