58. Matilda

I almost dropped to the floor when I saw my sisters. The copper-haired dark-eyed stares of my beautiful little sisters. All dressed up and already squealing with excitement. A year younger than me, Leona and Naomi wore cream and beige-toned clinging maxi-gowns, their athletic shapes on display.

At just sixteen, Eleanour wore an elaborate white concoction that had an insane amount of feathers. She was a gold, white and silver bonanza. Little Phoebe, our baby of thirteen, sported a bright pink, almost flamenco style dress.

“What are you all doing here? You all look so beautiful! Oh Goddess I am so pleased to see you all!” I cried as we hugged, most of us trying to stop any tears from spoiling our make-up.

Leona inhaled sharply after the initial elation dialled down, trying to stop her tears escaping. Taking my hand she whispered. “This was Alpha Cillian’s idea. He knew that Papa would have wanted to give us away at our Ceremonies, so he suggested we start a new tradition in his honour.