ple begin to fill in, one annoyingly perfect face after another.
I am dressed in a golden gown with orange curlicues that twist and turn all over me. The fabric is surprisingly comfortable. For once, I actually smile in an article of clothing that Mom has chosen out. I’m warm and cozy, hugged by the sleeves and the tight stitching. Not bad, considering I will likely spend the next three years in this thing.
Most people are much showier than I am. That works for me, because I don’t want to be the center of attention any more than I already am. Being the royal birthday girl wearing a dress that glows like a sunny spotlight makes it really hard to blend in with the crowd, like I usually do.
