From here, she can see most of the room. Brightly-coloured clothes, draped or clinging in hundreds of diffrerent styles, most running to the ornate and decorated with gold and jewels. Everything is about display tonight - the dresses, the conversation, the dancing.

Shelley sighs unhappily, clinging to her blank mask and avoiding the eye of anyone who looks her way. She wants to go. Home, preferably, but she knows Ishamael well enough to be sure that isn't likely.