Okay, why not?
I didn’t have any clothes good enough for an elven princess, so my cousin Kaylah let me borrow some hand-me-downs a friend from Rivendell had given her. She shook her head and held a white velvet skirt up in front of me. “I don’t care if that old book says the Kirkpatricks are faie. Your face is elven, but the rest of you is hobbit.”
At five I was only a little taller than my two-year-old sister Alicia, so the clothes were way too big for me. “But I don’t want to be a hobbit. They have hair on their feet. I want to be an elven princess.”
“All right, then.” Kaylah safety-pinned the white velvet skirt to my slip so the waist stayed up under my arms and the bottom brushed the floor. The satin sleeves of the woodland green blouse hung down past my fingertips. She wrapped a mithril lace belt around my waist twice and made a bow in the back. A spider-silk alfirin flower went on my shoulder. I sat down so she could tie the ribbons of starlight ballet slippers around my ankles. “There you are!” She clapped her hands together. “Lady Arwen herself doesn’t dress any finer than that!”
Fancy clothes aren’t all an elven princess needs to be dressed for a party, so I sat facing my reflection and waited for my maidservant to finish. She stood behind me in the wall mirror, intense concentration twisting her face. I grinned as she pulled the soft foam rollers out of my locks and fluffed, brushed, teased, and sprayed until my hair was perfect.