“I do not.” In fact, I have never felt more exposed in my life. As it turns out, I had been right to be suspicious of her offer to 'hang out and have some cousin time.' In fact, what she wanted was to see what I was wearing to the Sacrifice Ceremony. When I finally, reluctantly showed her the long skirt and blouse combo, she whipped out a pair of scissors and cut huge holes in both articles of clothing before I could stop her. Talk about pushy!

Of course I had nothing else to wear but Lexy had that covered. She'd brought along an outfit that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a strip club. Okay, maybe it isn’t that extreme but it certainly feels like that to me.

I have on a deep blue halter top made of some soft, silky material that twists around my neck in a loop and barely covers my breasts. It leaves my back bare so there’s no way I could wear a bra—which makes me feel incredibly naked.

Down below I’m wearing a peacock-dyed skirt made of the same material. It falls in long, soft folds from my hips to my ankles, with a slit right up the middle. It also leaves my midriff exposed. I keep having the urge to cover my stomach—exposing my navel feels almost as obscene as hiking up my skirt and giving everyone a good view of my pussy.

To this lovely but revealing outfit, Lexy has added some peacock feather earrings but no necklace—tradition dictates that no female eligible to be chosen as the Sacrifice should wear any jewelry around her throat. Because if the Sovereign picks you, he has to have unobstructed access to your neck. This is the same reason everyone is wearing their hair up, as well. Lexy has pulled mine into a modified bun at the nape of my neck with little curling tendrils coming out to frame my face. It’s almost pretty but no matter what ‘do I’m wearing, my hair color is still mousy brown.

Lexy has pronounced my outfit 'gorgeous' and 'perfect' at least two dozen times since we left my apartment and arrived at the Glen—the large, clearing on the outskirts of Tampa where all major interspecies supernatural business is conducted. And indeed, as I look around, I can see that what I’m wearing isn’t nearly the most revealing outfit on display.

The fairies, keeping to themselves as always, have on shimmery, diaphanous gowns that are practically see-through and most of the female weres have apparently decided to treat the Glen as a topless beach. Dryads and nyads drift around clothed in only leaves and water vapor and the majority of my sister witches have on lingerie that could charitably be called 'revealing'. (If you’re not feeling too charitable, however, you could just say slutty—it amounts to the same thing.)