The smooth silk dress felt cool on Abreigelle's skin. It was two pieces, in the fashion of Shah Neurn, and it was lighter and more delicate than her usual servant's attire. More beautiful. She took in a deep breath and smiled. Tonight, she would attend a ball.

Lenore tugged on her hair brutally, trying to pin down Abreigelle's vigorous blonde curls into something suitable for the court. In the mirror, the hairstyle look something like an amazingly intricate beehive.

"Can you at least try to make it a little more suitable to the dress?" Abreigelle demanded, "I hardly thing this tight mass looks like--"

"If your hair wasn't so bunchy and thick then maybe I could." Lenore said sarcastically, jabbing a clip into her scalp. "Maybe."

"Ow! Would you stop being so--"

"Realistic? To tell you the truth honey, if I were you I would just cut it all off. That's being realistic."

With an effort, Abreigelle silenced herself. Her sister wanted to hear anger out of her, and by all means, she would not let her have it! For the rest of the hour, Abreigelle sat in silence, wincing occasionally, but soundless.

Lenore stopped all of a sudden and lifted her hands away. "Done." She rounded the chair, probably trying to get a good look from the front. Lenore squinted her brown eyes thoughtfully. Frowning, she began pulling all the pins out and said, "You were right. I'm starting over."

Patience. Abreigelle thought, trying to keep herself from having an raging outburst. The ball doesn't start for another four hours. Relax.

"Remind me again, why Lady Beshna wants you to tag along?" Lenore asked, her tone growing more weary. "I don't want to keep doing this if she is just going to keep you locked up in the carriage all night."

"She would not do that to me." At least, I don't think she would. "This is her first ball, and Beshna...errr...likes this guy--the High Councillator's son, Rashtar--and she thinks that I can offer her relationship advice if I come with."

Lenore nearly jammed a pin into her younger sister's brain. "What!?"

Abreigelle shrugged, ignoring the pain. It was usually Lenore who attracted boys' attention. Truthfully, Abreigelle was just as shocked. "Yeah. I know. She must have seen me talking with her guards the other day, and--"

"You talked with them? You know you're not supposed to do that!"

"Would you stop cutting me off! Ow! Lenore!"

"Fine. So, why exactly were you talking with the guards? It must have been so serious."

"No particular reason." It was the truth. Lenore, her parents, and all the other people around the estate, had no idea that Abreigelle was friends with the guards. Under a sacred oath, the Swordfellows--the soldiers of Shah Neurn--were sworn to never speak a word while on duty. The group that she knew well--the ones that rotated in shifts guarding Beshna's rooms--were not even real Swordfellows yet...they were just trainees. It didn't matter if they spoke, did it?

Lenore just sighed. "As your older sister, I am trying to guide you down the path that causes the least trouble. You know what they do to servants who misbehave, don't you? Your wages would be suspended and you'd get locked away in the cellar for a week. Have you even been down there? It's infested with rats and cockroaches!"

Abreigelle actually had been down in the cellar. Several times. She had things hidden down there. "They wouldn't keep me in the cellar forever though. Or kill me. We aren't slaves."

"Right." Lenore sighed. "Just...try to behave yourself tonight at the ball. Don't botch up this potential romance between Beshna and the rich guy, okay? If they get married, it will mean that Beshna will move on over to the Palace, and we'll all get a raise. Everyone will be happy."

"Yeah. I guess so." Despite struggling with self-confidence, Beshna was a pleasant girl. She had few friends her own age, besides Abreigelle, her personal servant girl. It would be difficult for Beshna to even be noticed by such a member of the Neurean upper crust as the High Councillator's son, even if her father was incredibly wealthy and influential.

Gently this time, Lenore slid in another hairpin. "I believe in you."

It was comforting, but Abreigelle already knew that. They were sisters. Maybe at times they argued over which green uniform skirts were theirs, or who would get the least-lumpy side of the mattress, but that was just part of their sisterly bond. They argued, but they also cared deeply for one another.

The tiny dressing-room grew quiet, save for the noise of a scuttling mouse. Lenore paused, holding a twisted strand of Abreigelle's hair. "What, do you not believe in yourself?" she asked suddenly.

Abreigelle didn't answer that. There were a thousand things that could go wrong tonight, and thinking about them all just made her head hurt.

She heard Lenore sigh, and for the rest of the hour, the two of them were silent.

...

Abreigelle stood at last, the hem of her ballgown swishing onto the clean stone floor. She rolled her shoulders, straightened her spine, and raised her chin, looking directly into the tall mirror that stood before her. She looked...ridiculous...in the good sort of way.

Her hair was much tamer now, swept up in a heap of tight curls. Several honey-blonde strands fell down her back and over the white, top part of the dress, which was decorated with silver embroidered roses. Below that was a remarkably poofy skirt, which had a metallic blue sheen that seemed to make it glitter in the dim candlelight. The dress fit loosely on her, which Abreigelle didn't mind, as it was a gift from Beshna in exchange for her company at the ball. Poor Beshna had about ten of these gowns, and this one obviously was the one she liked the least. Abreigelle, on the other hand, had never owned a piece of clothing half as nice as this, and to her, it was one of the most precious, beautiful things in the world.

Holding her breath, Abreigelle spun around, admiring the way the skirt seemed to fan out. She wondered, and secretly hoped, that she would get asked to dance tonight. Of course, no one would ask her to dance, since most of the men at the ball would be Neurans. Abreigelle was just a puny servant girl who was expected to do her duty to serve Lady Beshna at all costs. She was there for Beshna's support, and for no other reason.

But, if she could dance with anyone, it would be one of the Swordfellows. A few of them would be there tonight, as part of Beshna's guard. Evadrian, Sid, and Asfounder would tag along, since the threesome usually accompanied her when she left the estate. Evadrian was madly in love with Lenore, and never missed an opportunity to ask Abreigelle about her sister. Unfortunately for him, Lenore wasn't interested. Sid was a precious thing, and one of Abreigelle's closest friends. And Asfounder...had captured Abreigelle's heart. He was the most miraculously handsome human being that ever walked this earth. Asfounder didn't talk much, especially to her, but maybe tonight things would be different. For all she knew, a single night could change everything, and he hadn't even seen what she looked like right now. She looked like a princess.

"Well," Lenore peeped, "You look stunning."

Abreigelle turned towards her sister, "Exactly. I am officially more beautiful than you, now."

Lenore snickered, placing both her hands on her hips defiantly. "I hardly think so. All this pampering has gone to you head, hasn't it?" She glided over the chair which Abreigelle had just been sitting in, plopped down, and said mockingly, "Oh look at me, I'm such a Lady now. It's like I was actually invited to go!"

"I was invited."

"Not by the hosts." Lenore smirked, looking like she knew all of the world's secrets. She stood, and reached up to pull a pair of green knitting needles from out of her light blonde bun. "I have some work to finish up for tonight, but I will be at the gates to see you off."

Abreigelle nodded, vaguely annoyed that she would have to worry about her tower of hair toppling in the next two hours. "Alright."

In an instant, Lenore wrapped her arms around Abreigelle, squeezing her shoulders hard. "Love you." She breathed, "I know you will do great tonight."

I hope so. Abreigelle wondered, her arms involuntarily beginning to shake. One misstep, and her friendship with Beshna would come to an abrupt end. Lenore believes in me . Why shouldn't I?

...

Abreigelle walked alone through the estate's gardens, winding her way through a maze of tall hedges. The vivid orange light of evening saturated the pink and purple hues of the delicate flowers that had bloomed on the sharply-cut branches. A lavender breeze rustled the little green leaves, breaking the silence.

Shadows masked each and every turn, making it difficult for Abreigelle to see the correct path to the center of the vernal labyrinth. Thankfully, she had memorized the way.

Left. Right. Left. Straight. Left. The narrow path opened up into a circular courtyard. This part of the maze was not maintained, probably because it was so hard to find. Weeds peeked up through the cracks in the cobblestones, and the bushes weren't cut sharply at all. Everything looked overgrown, and for some reason, it was here that Abreigelle felt most at home.

That was why, of course, she had come here this evening. That, and because of the crown.

Ever since Beshna had told her that she would be attending a ball--an actual ball--Abreigelle had ventured into her little courtyard late every evening after she had finished tending to Beshna's rooms. Alone, she'd pictured how she would look tonight, and in every one of those dreams, she had worn a crown made of flowers.

Quickly, Abreigelle had taught herself how to braid the little bush branches together to make something that would fit around her head. She prayed each night when she left her project on the ground that no one would see her, that not even the Night Thief would snatch it away. Each day she returned to the courtyard and saw the flowery circlet sitting there, it grew even more beautiful in her eyes. It became less of a pice of art and more of an icon--a symbol of her every hope and daydream.

Staring at the flower crown now made Abreigelle feel as if she belonged in one of those fairytales her mother used to tell her before bed. This was the defining moment, the moment that could change everything. Her heart was racing.

Abreigelle cradled the delicate crown and lifted it to the summit of her curl mountain. She pressed it down, pulling away the bits of her hair that prevented it from fitting securely.

And then, Abreigelle let out a long breath. Her hands fell, and the crown stayed put. There were no mirrors around, but Abreigelle was able to see herself in her mind's eye just as well. Everything looked perfect.

Abreigelle honestly did not know what to expect out of her first ball. Perhaps it would be just like in those fairytales, and she would dance the night away with the man of her dreams. More realistically, she would be sitting on the sidelines or fetching drinks for Lady Beshna. And what could she possibly do to help her mistress win the heart of Rashtar? What advice would a simple human be able to give to a Neuran noble?

I am such a fool for believing this crown would make me something greater than I am. Abreigelle thought. Now was not the time to panic, but some kind of fire stirred within her. What was I thinking when I made this? Was I hoping that somehow, despite my appearance, despite my position in this society...that some fancy lord would come and sweep me off my feet?

Once, there may have been a time where humans could dance together in their own high courts--a time when it wasn't taboo for any of the other races to be seen talking with a human. That day wasn't today. Nor was it tomorrow, or any other time in the future. The glory days of the human race were gone, and there was no force on the planet that could possibly change five hundred years of prejudice.

Overcome with anger, Abreigelle felt the urge to reach up and rip the crown off her head and chuck the stupid thing into the bushes. She paused though, her fingers hovering just inches above the tiny white flowers. It's not about that. A wave of calm washed over her in a gentle tide as she remembered words her father had once told her. I won't succumb to their hate. I will make the best out of what I am given, and I will do everything in my power to create rightness in the world.

Words. Words that had helped her family endure servitude at this estate, and life before that when they'd lived out in the country, tilling the fields. Other families had their words to help them through, but these were hers. Abreigelle closed her eyes and folded her hands, listening to the breeze of her country, of Shah Neurn. Somewhere beyond the labyrinth, a nightingale sang.

The path to rightness wasn't through destruction. It was through creation. Tonight, she wouldn't sulk. She would be as lively and joyful as any of the other guests. She would help Lady Beshna, and she would dance, even if it had to be with one of the Swordfellows. There was nothing in their silly rulebook that prevented them from dancing, was there? She's just have to be careful to not be seen speaking with them.

In the end, it didn't matter what others thought of her.

The molten gold sun was setting, and Abreigelle lifted her skirts, dashing off through the labyrinth and then towards the carriages. Lenore would her waiting there. Hopefully, she wouldn't mind the crown.