Purity measured by a single cloud of moonlight
An echo off the far hills, re-bounding till dawn
Glory measured in the eyes that seem so dull
Lifeless glass the color of dying emeralds
A whisper of young desire for what seems so gone

Keep me in your night! cries a star to the moon
Keep me in your glow that shelters me from day!
Sing stars, come what may...

The green emeralds drink the stardust
Casting upon them a spell of hope
For as long as silver twinkles in the sky
For as long as silver sings
Sing stars, come what may

The cool glass seemed to ripple like shining water as the sun sparkled off it, dazzling her eyes. She stared, entranced, at the image before her in the looking glass. She was a haunting picture of innocence.

Soft brown hair drifted in airy waves, falling lightly on her bare shoulders. The woman tied the final knot in her corset causing her to take a quick breath. She was tiny, naturally petite, but the constricting garment still seemed to suffocate her; like a shell the ocean snail has grown too large for. She blinked at her reflection, a slight blush modestly brushing her cheeks. Layer after layer, button after bow; tie after clasp she stood patiently, a porcelain doll to her fitter.

"Voila! Mademoiselle looks beautiful, no?" the woman beamed in obvious pride for her work.

She swallowed, the blush sinking to an unusual pale.

Ivory lace cascaded about her face, dripping down like melted wax. Her bodice, reserved and discreet, held an allure that once again sparked color into her cheeks. The skirt was embroidered with pale yellow roses that billowed and spilled into a train pooling like a pond of golden cream at her feet. She was beautiful, she mused, and she'd never thought herself to have the grace that some girls were born with. That glamour that set them apart, that whisper of something special, but right now... she was glowing. She took a step toward the young woman in the mirror, just to touch her- to see if she was real.

"It's the dress," came a quick voice from behind her. The illusion shattered in a heartbeat. "Lord knows she should be for the money I'm spending."

The seamstress gave a nervous chuckle. "It... does seem to fit nicely, Madame."

"It does," the voice considered. "Turn around Dinah; let me see the front."

"How do you like it Mademoiselle?"

"She'll like it how I tell her to."

"It -is- beautiful... so very beautiful. More than I could ever make..."-

"... Richard requested yellow," her mother was explaining. "He thinks it's impertinent for women to wear white. Personally, I don't agree with yellow, I thought a light carnation pink would be charming, but with Dinah's complexion... "

She let her mind drift away. The gown would make whoever wore it lovely. The girl would be excited, happy, flushing singular brilliance.

So happy.

Her sage green eyes settled back to the looking glass. She would feel that way, wouldn t she?

So happy... so in love.

Of course.

Mother said she would that she was only nervous now.

That Richard was wonderful, a wonderful, wonderful man. That love was learned, that Richard was wonderful...

So happy.

So wonderful.

So in love.

Mother said--

"Dinah!"

"Yes, Mother," she responded automatically.

"Hurry along, would you! We have plans for the evening and here you are staring at the mirror like a vain schoolgirl."