The day of Elynor's parents' arrival came, Isolde stood in front of her mirror, smoothing over the velvet dress she wore. She scarcely recognized herself. The heavy fabric of the dress was unfamiliar against her skin, the elaborate embroidery along the bodice almost foreign to her touch. Isolde had never worn anything so rich, so finely made. The deep blue color reminded her of the night sky, streaked with silver thread like distant stars. She lifted the skirt slightly, examining the delicate slippers that matched—another gift from Elynor. They felt strange on her feet, too soft, too precise in their craftsmanship.