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The kingdom’s first snowfall drapes the palace in shimmering white, and amid the whirl of governance, the princess yearns to transform her grand dance into a winter reverie. Her dressing room overflows with silken gowns and jeweled treasures, yet time slips like sand through gloved fingers. Let’s weave her vision: Begin with a velvet-lined basin of rosewater and milk, softening her skin to moonlight’s glow. Dab her cheeks with frost-pale powder, eyes smudged in silver like twilight meeting snow, lips stained the faintest blush of icetouched berries. From her wardrobe, pluck the gown—silk the hue of midnight frost, its bodice embroidered with crystal-dusted snowflakes, sleeves trailing like frozen breath. Twist her hair into a braided crown, pinned with diamond pins that mimic starlight. Adorn her throat with a pendant of opal, its heart flickering blue as glacial depths, then clasp silver cuffs etched with pine motifs. Finally, the slippers: glass spun to mimic ice, soles gilded for silent steps across marble floors. When the prince offers his hand, she’ll glide into the ballroom—a storm made graceful, winter’s spirit in human form—and for one night, duty yields to dancing.
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