[Third Person].
Wanda didn't acknowledge any of them. But she felt the eyes—the admiration, the envy, and it soothed something raw inside her chest.
The boutique attendants rushed to her immediately, bowing with respect. "Lady Wanda, how may we assist you today?"
She lifted her chin. "I need a dress. Something striking."
They understood instantly.
Minutes later, Wanda stood before a large gilded mirror, a deep red dress draped against her frame—long, elegant, fitted at the waist, with a slit high enough to demand attention but tasteful enough not to be criticized.
Her lips curved. "Wrap it," she said.
From the next shop, she chose a pair of matching heels that looked sharp, tall, and commanding.
Then she continued down the lane, entering Stormveil's most reputable salon. Again, the attendants bowed.
"Lady Wanda," they greeted, "an honour."
Wanda sat while they washed her hair, the warm water and fragrant oils easing the tension from her scalp.
