“No, he didn’t…” Sebian all but exhaled beside me. Cici spun around where she stood on a wooden pedestal by the window, red strands framing her wide eyes in the same way the fraying fabric of my sanity shaped around her hips. “Galantia…” “Oh dear,” Darien, the dressmaker, said where he knelt by the bottom seam of Cici’s gown. My gown.
