Mako held his hand out to her and smiled and Korra, who never liked to wear dresses, noticed how he was eying the pale yellow number she was wearing and she felt beautiful.
Does he like me in the dress or the dress on me? she wondered, and then realized that it could be both. I'm glad Asami convinced me to wear it, she thought, and blushed a little, remembering how foreign fashion was to her and how awkward she felt when she first tried it on.
How can he do this to me? she thought. How can he make me feel like a stranger in my own skin and make me like it? How am I more myself when I'm wearing a dress on a dance floor than I am when I spar in the gym? Was there always a part of me that wanted to wear makeup and ribbons, and where was she when I was five, ten, thirteen?
Mako held out his arm. "M'lady."
She smiled and wrapped her hand around his forearm, surprisingly firm under the layers of cloth, right below the elbow. "Good sir," she said playfully.
And as he led her onto the dance floor her heart sang.