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Rowan

“Oh,” says a breathless Holly, smoothing the skirt. Rowan grins, but when Holly turns back from the mirrors her face is older than her fourteen years.

“You give me the nicest dreams,” she says heavily. “But I can’t afford it.”

“Ms. Rowan’s Fund For Underdressed Young Ladies–” Rowan begins.

“No!” Holly scowls. “You are not allowed to–”

“I am.”

“I won’t wear it!”

The dress has turned a creature of elbows and knees into somebody who’d ride a pumpkin carriage. Rowan doesn’t know which is more beautiful, but she knows why Holly’s afraid. She doesn’t know what to say.

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