"My name! Is [i]not![/i] Mittens!" 

Her voice rings out satisfyingly through the room, but there's no response beyond the slight rustling of fabric on fabric. Also, it's a nice thought (and it's even nicer to be able to say it out loud), but however nice a thought it is, she can't... that is, between all the swinging and spinning she can't actually... this is so silly actually, but she's having a hard time remembering what her name actually [i]is[/i]. Every time a letter or a syllable tugs at her brain, her collar swims up to meet it and that's that. Maybe she really is Mittens, what does it matter? So long as she still remembers she's the Princess-Promised, who she's here with, and who's waiting for her to come home, there's still hope. She doesn't need a name she likes. 

So fine, her name is Mittens. You win, Eupheria. But she hasn't forgotten she's got a job to do in here, or that clock is very literally ticking, and no amount of taunting, overly enthusiastic snakerchiefs, or tossing her into giant wardrobes could make her forget that. Mittens marches determinedly past piles of silk dresses and floofy Jedadi dancing pants, past the most gorgeous gowns you could hope for and past even a set of slightly older-looking Illuminan battle regalia. Find an exit, find an exit. Focus, Mittens...

...

Ok, fine. Maybe there is no exit. Is this a test? This is probably a test. Eupheria was testing her descendant to make sure she had all the qualities a Princess of Illumina ought to. So first was grace and acrobatics, and now it was fashion. What did she have to do in here, then? Find the magical dress of unlocking? No, that's stupid. That's something a kid would come up with. It's probably more... if she puts together an outfit that beats Eupheria's awful dress. Then she'd... no, this still sounded stupid. But the fact was she wasn't going to get much done in this dress anyway, so--

"Eeeek!" 

Mittens squeaks and jumps straight into the air. Something on her leg, something on her leg! She heard something, she know she did! She felt it! Her glowing green eyes cut through the darkness as she sweeps the room once, twice. Nothing. She swallows, and holds her hand over her chest, where her heart is pounding like a waterfall on rocks. 

Ok, she's alone. That's... that's good. She'd rather be alone right now. Yeah. Mittens starts picking through the fabrics more critically now. She fingers a Rowani tunic, peers critically at a gown that reminds her so much of Rita that it hurts, and rubs her face against a Konkon kimono. No good, no good. No... eeeep! Wh-what was that???

"...H-Hello? Hello? Is... is someone there? If you're there, come out! It's not funny, sneaking up on me!"

But there's no reply. She really is alone. It must have just been some outfit or another falling over; she really is alone in here. What in rains was she supposed to be watching out for? Darn it, Eupheria!

When she sees it, she squeaks. She never wears this sort of stuff, never ever ever, a Princess Must Always Be Beautiful, but it's just so... [i]good[/i] and wouldn't Rita just love love love it and gosh oh gosh she's sure beyond sure that it was meant for her! Just for her! There on a mannequin is the most perfectly tailored suit in the history of Hyperborea. It's Illuminan-made, she's equally sure of that. Gorgeous black knee-high boots go over tight black leather pants she can't help but notice are [i]exactly[/i] her size, right down to her petite hips. The belt is dotted with stained glass crystals in all seven proper colors. The shirt is an absolutely gorgeous pure white silk number with delicate silver buttons that dot their way up to a loosely open ruffled top and collar in a style matched down by the wrists, which flare and dangle just a little bit over the hands. There's a loose, deep navy tie she could just slip on over her neck and let it dangle there, so charming and sexy, yes. And then the vest. Oh rivers, Mittens was born to wear that vest. The deepest jet, like Ourania sewed it out of the night sky, with a series of tiny, gorgeous silver chains dangling across the chest, tied up at the tops in swirling fountain patterns worked into the fabric. The whole ensemble would cling to her figure and flatter her perfectly. There's even a pocket for her snakerchief! She could take her hair out of this bun and not a girl anywhere could resist her, if she still lived that sort of life. Oh rivers, oh shards, oh yes yes [i]yes[/i]. 

She startles again, and this time she actually hisses. That's twice now! Why is she hissing? Stop it, Mittens! You are [i]not[/i] a kitty! But it's just, she could swear that... no. Another absurdly cautious sweep of the room tells her she's absolutely, definitely alone. She sighs, maybe in exasperation and maybe in relief. And then she shrugs. She wasn't going to let her jumped-up danger instincts ruin this. 

She very carefully, piece by piece removes the suit from the mannequin and sets it on the ground underneath her. And then, humming an old Askaian marching tune Rita taught her as a kitt-- child! As a child. Ahem. She hums the tune, and giddily starts to slip out of her ruined, useless dress...