For the Ball by kite-san (WebArchive)

The Ball was coming. Most who would be there had been preparing for months in advance. For me, it had been years.

It would be my debut. That itself was not particularly special, year after year time passes and children come of age, the Ball was an ideal time to declare oneself an adult, “on the market” as it were. My parents had planned this for their part, deliberately timing things so my eighteenth birthday would fall in the last week before the Ball that year. Perhaps a bit obsessive of them, but they met at the Ball as well, all those years ago, so I can understand. While others might tarry, choosing a larger gathering than the first available to them, for me there could be no other choice, whatever I turned out to be.

I was blessed in that this, too, was easy to answer.

I rose from my bath, the water running down my body, my skin a raw, burning pink. I slowly dried off, smiling to myself as I looked over my assorted makeup, perfumes, paints, and the other assorted tools of primping and preening. No use to me today are they, nor again for some time. I did not have brush or comb, I had not needed them for some time, since I undertook the treatments preparing for today...