“Jesus, it’s like Barbie took a dump in here,” I joke with a smirk.
Blush just laughs, unfazed since we’ve been bantering back and forth all day while she trained me. She grabs my wrist and yanks me toward the back, dragging me through the plush chaos into her bedroom. Once inside, she lets go and points toward the chair in front of her mirror like she owns me.
I pull my hoodie over my head, leaving me a crop top and toss it aside before dropping into the chair and meeting her pink eyes in the mirror.
“So,” she says, running her fingers through the ends of my hair, “how much are we chopping off?”
“Not a lot. Just enough to get it back to healthy.”
“Hmm,” she hums, holding a couple inches between her fingers, sizing it up with that focused glint in her eyes. “How about this much?”
I nod, slow but sure. “Yeah, that works.”
She grins like she’s been waiting to do this since she saw me, already buzzing around her vanity grabbing scissors, a comb, clips, whatever else she’s got hidden in her arsenal.
“So, Noir and Hell are gone now?” she says casually as she starts brushing through my hair, smoothing out the tangles.
“Yeah,” I answer, watching her in the mirror. “They just left.”
“You did good today. I mean, personally, I think you’re gonna be fine. You’ve got that sharp edge, and you pick up fast. Is there anything in particular you want to try?”
My mind drifts back to a rare memory—a time I actually saw a show. Just once, when I was younger. Iris had dragged me along, which was unusual in itself.
We watched a girl perform ballet on stage. She wore an outfit a lot like mine, but all black, right down to the shoes. She was beautiful. And so was the dancing—haunting and graceful in a way that made everything around her feel still.
After that day, I tried to teach myself in secret, copying the movements when no one was watching. But like most beautiful things in my life, it faded, buried under the weight of everything else, smothered when the abuse got worse.
“I wanted to try ballet once,” I say, shrugging a shoulder and glancing away.
“Yes!” Blush gasps, eyes lighting up. “You’d be the perfect fire-breathing ballerina!”
I can’t help the small smile tugging at my lips as she keeps going.
“I mean, I can teach you the fire-breathing part, but I’m sure one of the other girls could help with ballet. We’ve never had a performance like that here, but I know Madame would lose her mind over it.”
I nod a few times, quietly considering it. I already know being here is going to push my body in ways I’m not used to, but maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
“And how’d you find your first day, anyway?” Blush asks, one brow arched, curious.
A flicker of something tightens in my chest—something I don’t show. I keep my expression neutral, eyes locked on hers through the reflection.
“I’ve had worse days. At least no one tried to kill me. Yet.”
She pauses, her eyes flashing to mine in the mirror.
“No one’s gonna kill you here.”
“Not even Wrath?” I ask, my brows pulling in.
She scoffs with a smirk, grabbing a water spray bottle.
“Babes, I told you this morning, if Wrath wanted you dead, you’d already be a carcass. He doesn’t wait,” her eyes flick back to mine as she continues. “He has a thing for you. Which is weird and rare as fuck, honestly. Wrath doesn’t like girls… Not like that. He doesn’t like anyone who breathes, really. Just Hell and Soul.”
“Likes me…” I repeat it like I don’t believe it, the words bitter in my mouth.
“Yeah, I knew something was up this morning after what he pulled, but the whole Globe of Death thing? That just confirmed it.”
I don’t answer, too lost thinking about that moment between us. How his body felt pressed against mine, strong and powerful, as if he was built to be a weapon.