I would like some constructive criticism on the beginning of my fantasy novel?

The night was beautiful and cloudless. A gentle whisper of a wind tugged at the curtains in Felicity’s bedroom, beckoning her outside. Still in her wrinkly blue chemise with the lace sleeves, she looked like a ghost. Her soft chestnut hair tied in braids, her skinny legs clad in stockings… it was not an outfit suitable to be outdoors in. Nonetheless, she felt an urgent need to leave the imprisonment her bedchamber provided.

Slipping on a pair of ratty black boots and not bothering to tie the laces, the young woman stepped under the doorframe into the dusty kitchen, where all sorts of pots and pans hung across the ceiling. Weaving in and out of their metallic maze, she found herself at the front door. It was a huge, tall, wide door…one that you had to really yank at to open. So after much tugging, moonlight finally seeped through to alight on her pleased face. It picked out the glinting hazel in her big, doe-like eyes.

“Ah, such a gorgeous night!” she cried aloud. However, no one heard but the stars.

Indeed, the garden appeared truly magical tonight. Everything was set with the silvery cloak of twilight, for it was still early evening yet. Tulips and marigolds, with their charming bulbs of prismatic colors, nodded in the soft breeze that issued through the flower patch. The giant weeping willow, its tendrils already caught together with pearly dew, bowed sadly at Felicity.

Daintily, she picked her way down the sandstone walk to the tiny bench by the gurgling fountain. The fountain and the bench both sat in the very middle of the garden in a circle of paved, honey-hued sandstone. As Felicity alighted on the bench and smoothed her crimped underwear, the marble fountain bubbled a hello.

“Yes…hello…fountain…” she whispered forlornly. Yet the fountain could only gush and murmur with its rippling waters.

Felicity stared into the sky, which shone bright with millions of stars. A fat moon smirked down at the earth, his crater-eyes wide and gaping.

At that peaceful, lonely moment, the last thing Felicity expected was to feel a cold hand touch her shoulder….

“Goodness!” her hand flew to her breast. Her heart beat like a drum. “Who’s there?”

She had shot off the bench like a firecracker. Yet as she surveyed the silvery garden, all she saw were shadows and flowers.

“Who’s there?” she repeated, this time with a note of irritation in her shrill voice.

Her shoulder still felt bitterly cold, as if the hand had forever left its mark. Slowly, she reached up to place her fingers there.

“Felicity…is that not your name?”

She leapt around like a startled cat. Drops of sweat dotted her brow. Her limbs were speckled in goose bumps. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. All around, the rainbow flowers bobbed in the wind and the man in the moon leered from the inky heavens.

It began quite gradually. A magenta dust fluttered from the sky before her eyes. She vaguely felt her hand reach up to grasp it. Yet she could not. The drifty magenta powder slipped away. Darting closer, she strained her eyes to find it once more. The way it sparkled like polished tin captivated her. Never before had she seen something so beautiful.

“Wait!” she cried. “Do not leave! I need you!”

But this was silly. This magical dust was surely inanimate. It did not live. It did not breathe. And yet she yearned for it like a lover would her sweetheart. Her heart tugged her forward. Her muddy hazel eyes glimmered with the dazed look of one lost in thought. Frantic thoughts scurried through her head like stumbling doves.

Felicity had never felt more awake. This was no ordinary night. This was her opportunity, her chance to seek companionship. Most prominent, for at least half of her twenty years, was her desire for a friend…just one loyal, friendly companion. And for some reason, she knew this peculiar rose dust would lead her to her wishes.

Not a moment was to be spared.

As it was, Felicity pursued the glossy rose dust out the garden gate into the cobble street. It was there that a rickety ebony cart was just rattling around the corner, and thereupon the coachman glimpsed a brown-haired young lady in her blue underwear…chasing something with outstretched arms and a crazed face.