How she hates the blindfold.

It wasn't so bad in the bridge. But here, as she hears conversations stop and breaths catch in throats! If it weren't for safety's sake--if it weren't for Molech's injunction!--she could look around. Could see [i]whose[/i] words falter, whose eyes can't help but trace her as she goes!

And if she's moving her hips a bit more than usual, so the gown has a chance to move, catch the light, listening for the sharp inhales of breath when a hint of thigh flashes through the slit up the side, well...

How she'd gasped, when she'd first seen it! Admired the way each movement sent ripples and shimmers across the fabric! Each motion is a wave of sequins and silvered threads, each hem a crest of seafoam against the lapis and cerulean of the dress! Blushed and stammered when she saw herself in the mirror! How she'd sat, and wondered, and marveled, and again decided that she needs tear ducts! What a world, where she can have things as nice as this!

She shivers, and can't resist, even now, giving a little twirl of joy. 

(Behind her, a Coherent chokes on her rations.)

Her back still aches, just a little. The Coherents had listened to her embarrassed description, looked at each other, and nodded. Then one had picked up their chisel, and another had heated up a crucible. The stylized dove's wings down her back, though, are worth the pain. The gold filigree gleams between the panels of the backless dress, a delicate gold pattern flying over a sea of blue.

Wings, for freedom. A dove, for Aphrodite. A reminder for herself once she makes it out of this.

She wears the sea on her front, the future on her back, and around her neck, the present: a silver chain, each link a symbol of those around her. A scarf. A tail. A tentacle. A scale. Reminders of friends, comrades, past and present. They sit against her, constantly close to her heart, a reminder of how and why and for whom.

For love. For her friends. And for herself.

And thus attired, Alexa goes to battle.