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The dress that my father had me wearing was floor length and ethereal, a silver so pale that it outshone my eyes. My platinum hair was curled and loose around my shoulders, and my expression was impassive as I sat still, waiting for Nina, the hairdresser that my father had hired to do my hair and makeup, to finish her job and leave me the hell alone.

“You look beautiful, Alice,” she said, brushing a final highlight over the tip of my nose. She offered me a smile, and I could tell that she meant the compliment genuinely, but that meant fuck all coming from someone that my father had hired to dress me up like a lamb for the slaughter.