130. Dawn.

>>>>>Ticket to freedom.>>>>>

The soft knock on the door has me stirring from my sleep. I’m not able to concede the person’s visit as the door flutters open and three of Dima’s servants strut into the room bearing a dresser.

I scrunch my nose knowing what the cloth they are herding into the room is for. For the past two days, I have been fitting into different dress for the so-called golden mask festival.

Fucking don’t see the need for that.

Dima alongside Yulia had called on the best fashion designer they have here in Russia and about three of these people brought the best of their dresses, forcing me to wear them to see the one that would suit the occasion but in the end, Dima would end up disliking it.

Just yesterday, the last of the fashion designer came and took my measurements, promising to make a unique dress for me that'll suit the occasion.

That should be the dress the servants are wheeling into the room. And for them to bring it here, it only means Dima approves