A reflective piece, set around the start of #14.
The numerous buttons, delicate material, and ruffled hem of the skirt added up to a challange she hadn't been able to attempt since before leaving on that fateful trip to the farm. She stood up straight, then moved through a few of the stretches her physiotherapist had coached her on, and gave a quick self-asessement. Only the slightest twinge of a headache, and not a sway in her stance. Today was the day. She felt it. After several attempts, most ending with her being wheeled back in a state too dizzy to protest, she would make the circut. Just walk up and down Bullfinch twice without more than the crutches for aid, and she'd be free.
Carefully removing the hanger, she carried it over to her bed and removed the plastic. Taking a seat to reserve her strength, she took the moment to run her fingers over the fine purple material.
Besides. If this were the last day of Bigby's overprotective hovering, promise fulfilled, it couldn't hurt to leave a good impression. The blouse slipped smoothly over her shoulders and she carefully secured each button.