The dress was unlike any other that she had seen before–it was a red so rich only the rarest rubies or the ripest cherries could compare, like a plot of Crimson flowers among Lillies, with the delicate lace neckline resting close to the collarbone as if the it were the the wings of a butterfly, and fabric that cascaded down the mannequin like the wet marble of the Winged Victory of Samothrace, she could imagine herself slipping into this dress with the ease and elegance of Princess Grace of Monaco; she felt the cool silk on her skin as she put it on and zipped herself up perfectly, knowing she belonged in this dress.