Andriane's hands are empty.
She is wearing a silvery white steelsilk swordsman's cloak that sweeps gracefully from shoulder to knee, an elaborately feathered mask in shimmering greens with obsidian rimmed eyes, a beaded scarf wrapped with one end cascading down the back so that its crystal beads glimmer in the light like stars in a sky of charcoal silk, some black pearl teardrop earrings, a black pearl pendant hung from a green velvet choker, a gown of iridescent green watersilk trimmed in black seed pearls along the neckline and a pair of delicate black velvet slippers.