"Cosie," Eliard spoke. Her words were delicate, breathy, and soft as she gently brushed her daughter's hair. "You don't need to be nervous," she placed a soft hand against her daughter's cheek. Cosette De Saude looked beautiful, her hair looked like spun honeyed spider silk, her eyes were deep ebony, her cheeks lightly blushed, and her heart-shaped lips showed off the rosiness of her entire face.
"I know," She answered, closing her eyes, and letting her lashes flutter shut. Cosette knew what she had to do. Cosette needed to be lovable, that was all she was for her whole life; she was undeniably lovable. Her mother had grabbed her, clutching her face and describing to her all the ways in which she was perfect.
Eliard smiled at her daughter, "I'm proud of you," she hummed, placing the brush down and there was a knock on the door, "Come in."
