Krem smiled, because it was a precious consideration, he knew. He moved away from the silks in the arrays of black, and found the cottons. They weren't so luminous, but they would breathe, especially under the wool. And he had one in particular with a lovely silver rayon thread scattered into the weave of it.

He pulled that, slightly, from the shelf to show her.

"It isn't quite traditional," he hazarded, and then his smile became a bit of a smirk. "But sometimes, traditions are meant to be bent a little bit."