Willow
AT FIVE O'CLOCK, I'M BACK IN MY ROOM, EMBROIDERING TO TAKE THE edge off my nerves. To take my mind off what Dominik and I just did, and what we're about to do. There's a knock at the door. A woman in her seventies comes in, holding a garment bag in one hand and a travel case in another. I remember dropping off some medication at her cabin. Dolores, I think.
I should really start committing names to faces, but part of me is afraid to. Afraid to knit myself into the fabric of life here, afraid to get attached. "Miss Willow," she says with a smile, "your attire for tonight."
"Good to see you, Dolores. What attire?"
She lays out the garment bag on the bed and unzips it. "Green and gold. Pack colors, just as the alpha requested." She opens up the travel case and takes out a pair of heeled sandals. "Size seven, right?"
"How did you…" "He's always particular about details." She smiles at me.
"Forgive me if I'm overstepping, but we're all so glad you're here.
