Impa stands brazenly before the Princess's vanity. Her reflection shows a girl, pale and wide-eyed with bony collarbones protruding beneath the black lace which hides her slender shoulders. The dress is a little loose around the waist but otherwise a perfect fit.
Tilda secures the back and hands her a beeswax ochre paint. Impa carefully applies it to her lips and watches them blossom into plump black cherries. It is the first time she has ever worn make-up – such indulges were not only unheard of in Kakariko Village – they were forbidden: Modesty is a virtue which vanity depletes. Yet in this mirror, Impa feels herself transform from a malnourished child into a striking young woman. Surely growth is necessity not sin?
"You look stunning, Impa." Tilda affirms. "Now take my arm and we shall take to the Dining Hall together."
The Princess extends her arm. Impa looks from the ring of pearls around her wrist to the made-up face that gently smiles. By what divine ruling had she been granted such a humble and graceful mistress?
Their heels clack along the corridors as they make their way purposely through the Castle. Along the way, they draw glances of astonishment and confusion from passing servants. Impa dips her head low to avoid their disapproving scowls.
They arrive at the towering doors to the Dining Hall. Impa's heart pounds against her chest as her palms start to sweat.
"There's no need for nerves, Impa." Tilda assures her. "You are here by Royal Decree."
Tilda takes her Attendant's hand and pulls her forward.
The grandiose doors are thrust open to reveal a chequer-tiled floor that reaches all the way to the back of an enormous hall. Chandeliers hang from the high ceiling, lighting the way along an oblong banquet table, heaving with silver platters and gallery dishes. The guests rise from their seats upon their entrance and bow at the approach of the new Princess. Tilda waves courteously to her noble companions as she dances across the tiles to her assigned seat: at the head of the table beside a handsome young bearded man in a scarlet robe and a golden crown. The King smiles warmly at the welcome of his wife-to-be.
Impa lets go of her hand so that she may embrace her fiancé and scours her surroundings for a seat. The only one available sits to the right of the royal couple, opposite a young curly-haired man in a dapper waistcoat. Impa silently steps behind her seat and keeps her head down so as to avoid any awkward eye contact.
The King releases his embrace and addresses the gathering with open arms. "Thank you one and all for joining us on this momentous occasion!" he cheers. "The Wintertime Ball is a commemoration of the annual winter solstice, and a tradition that has been enjoyed by our ancestors for eons. Tonight, we shall continue to uphold their joyous conventions of feasting, dancing and merrymaking with the pleasure of each other's company. While most of you are regulars attendees of this delightful carousal, tonight we welcome a first-timer to the Wintertime Ball."
He turns to his fiancée beaming with pride. "My beautiful bride-to-be, Tilda."
The room erupts into applause. Tilda bows her head gracefully with a smile.
"Yes, as a recent addition to the Royal Court, it is therefore our responsibility to ensure that this year's Wintertime Ball exceeds all expectations. So without further ado, let us feast!"