In the glorious hall, the ethereal figure of Hen Portia graced the scene, adorned in an exquisite, pure-white evening gown. Its simplicity was its allure; it modestly caressed her creamy, scented shoulders, tracing the contours of her innocent yet delicately alluring figure. The gown cascaded elegantly, akin to a tranquil spring meandering unrestrained to meet the earth's embrace.
Sam's eyes widened in awe; it was the first time he had beheld Hen Portia in such radiant attire. She was an enigma, an ever-changing kaleidoscope of charm. Their initial encounter at the Zither Department's lecture hall had portrayed her in an aura of virtuous grace, surrounded by a cadre of admiring peers.
Now, at this opulent banquet, a natural regality emanated from her. He pondered how she might appear donned in military garb should fate lead her down that path.
Hen Portia's entrance garnered every eye in the room, rivaling even the attention Sam had commanded.
