Shift. Stockings. Garters.

Corset.

(She wants to be a boy again now.)

Then the ballgown. Silk rustles, billows, settles. Hundreds of buttons up the back.

Long white gloves. More buttons.

She sticks her tongue out at the mirror, just to make sure it's still her.

"Hold still, miss," the maid scolds.

Hair, makeup, jewelry. Sash and her state decorations. Slippers, reticule.

Done.

She stands. Takes a few steps and feels like an earthbound airship: enormous, dragging, and awkward. Not a squick like herself.

But once Deryn emerges from her (borrowed) rooms, it's all worth it – the look on Alek's face.