𝐌𝐈𝐊𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐋
An onyx gem made into a dress was the best way to describe it—so dark it seemed to swallow all light, only to expel the rays in refracted shards that shimmered like fractured midnight.
Each movement turned her into a living prism of shadow, the fabric catching faint hints of silver and violet, as though moonlight had been trapped in the seams and forced to leak out in reluctant glimmers. It clung to her like a second skin, sculpting her waist, tracing her hips, whispering along her legs with a predator's confidence. The hem flowed behind her in a slow, liquid ripple—less cloth, more molten night.
No ordinary dress would have dared to adorn her.
This one obeyed her, bowed to her.
She strode down the stairs, back straight with tension, her curls held up in an elegant tangle and adorned with dark pearls. Two wavy strands framed her face.
