Her palms are sweaty and the beads of impatient sweat drip from her brow. All she wants to see is him. Instead she succumbs to her presence in the mirror, her eyes slowly meeting up with those of her reflection, she attempts to exude whatever confidence her body and mind can find. Her fingers fumble to grasp the jewelry in her hand, let alone clasp them around her neck and wrists. The chatter of voices echoes and resounds within the room, the clicking of heels and bustling of the bodies in the hall pushes her more to make her entrance. She reaches out, her hand trembling as if the room were frigid. The sweat on her hand makes her lose her grip the first try, however the second, she succeeds and turns the handle as slowly as possible. Unsure of what she will witness, she goes for it. Her heart is pounding and she feels as if everyone can hear it. But through the door and into the hall she emerges, a flawless vision in white. Eyes are all on her as the world then stops and the ever-lasting volume of silence and awe take over the household.