ERIS
The chimes had reached a fever pitch, their crystalline resonance vibrating through the very stones of the palace.
Within the chambers, however, a sudden, suffocating hush fell as the six attendants stepped back, and the high priestess drew the silk shroud from the mannequin.
I forgot to breathe.
Even having seen the sketches, even having felt the weight of the fabric during the fittings, the reality of the gown stole the air from my lungs. It was not a dress; it was an act of war.
The base was a deep, translucent ice-blue that seemed to hold the depth of a frozen sea, shimmering with a silver-white frost gradient that climbed from the hem like a slow-moving blizzard.
The corset was a structural masterpiece, a frozen cascade of water that nipped my waist until I was a sliver of glass.
Every inch was encrusted with crystalline embellishments that didn't just catch the light, they shattered it, throwing tiny, prismatic diamonds across the stone walls.
