Dragging herself up, Alice crossed to her wardrobe with dresses, yanking it open.
Dresses, gowns, silks, fabrics in muted colors stared back at her. Nothing looked right. She needed something perfect. Not too loud, not too desperate. Something that would make her blend in but also unseen.
The room swayed as she moved, but she steadied herself against the door frame, breathing through the dizziness. Sweat trickled down the back of her neck.
"Come on," she whispered under her breath. "Focus."
She rifled through the clothes, fingers shaking, pulling out one dress, then another, rejecting each one with mounting frustration.
Too plain. Too revealing. Too boring.
Her head was fogging up badly now, her skin hot enough to burn someone else. And yet, beneath the fever, there was still that need humming low in her chest — for control, for beauty.
