The golden light of the early afternoon filtered through the large windows of the penthouse living room, casting a warm glow across the floor. In the master bedroom, Azaria stood in front of the full-length mirror, smoothing down the front of her clothes for what felt like the tenth time in five minutes. Her heart was hammering against her ribs in a nervous rhythm that she couldn't seem to silence. She had spent the entire morning asking Theon endless questions about what to wear and what "formal" actually implied in a world filled with powerful werewolves, terrified that she might somehow look completely out of place or fail to meet some unspoken expectation.
