Syryn wore Casseopia's dress and stared at his reflection with an expression like he had eaten a lemon. The alchemist was slender enough that wearing the padded item of clothing cut him the figure of a young lady. This time around, he wore a pant inside the dress because he had learnt a lesson about indecent exposure the hard way.
Syryn's long tresses fell in silky lengths down his chest. The teenager was proud of his shiny hair, and there was nothing anyone could say that would make him cut it. With reluctance, he lifted the lightweight crystal crown and placed it on his head. It was a perfect fit. The white veil was draped across his face obscuring everything but his eyes and forehead. The ensemble revealed just enough of him to fool people into believing that it was a young woman under the layers of fabric.
"Syryn?"
He turned his neck to face the young redhead whose jaw had dropped comically.
