#magicheels

"   did   you   read   that   out   of   some   motivational   handbook?   "   pushing   headphones   back   from   her   ears   as   attention   tunes   into   the   blonde.   of   course   when   your   favorite   artists   drops   a   new   album,   this   is   the   time   barbie   decides   to   become   a   sermon!           so   practical   of   her!           "   if   that's   the   advice   you're   giving,   i   wouldn't   elect   you   to   be   the   next   tedtalk   speaker.   "

ʼ ugh―! ʼ cendrillon tries not to flinch too much, though the aforementioned 'stinging' felt a bit stronger than implied. being a self-proclaimed superhero is tough! one of her foes had managed to snag her a little with some pocket knife, though thankfully the cut was only skin-deep. ʻ thanks, angel. sometimes this vigilante shit is a nightmare. ʼ

𝔐. ⑊ humidity is mild in the flesh, dense as the amazon; wild curls of viciously contrasted anthocyanins in red. we have lived in worlds curated similarly— surrealism as a pacification of the overgrowth. like all women, parmila thinks, we outgrow the confines & live in them, too. paradoxical beings; but a woman? she'll obey, seating herself in less exerted obedience & mindfully eyeing the blonde.

‘ AW... aren't you sweet? ’ nina grins, preening at the compliment from her fellow fashion friend. ‘ guess it takes one to know one, huh? ’

Send alt! to be introduced to a muse that I have played in the past, would like to play in the future, or that I have thought about writing.

Laura walked among the guests, smiling, chatting, and shaking their hands. She wasn’t here to make friends or to admire the other young women’s dresses. She was here for a job.

She didn’t have to wait for the billionaire’s smell in order to track him. He was standing right in front of her. He was a rotund man probably in his mid-seventies with a little pointed beard. He could have been her grandfather, if she ever had one. “Hello,” Laura said with a smile. “Mr. Pierce, my name is Angela Hawkins from Forbes Magazine. I tried calling your office earlier today for an interview, but I couldn’t manage it.”

“I’m sorry, but I’m not here for interviews,” the man replied.

“I understand that, but my editor is breathing down my neck and it would be really nice if you could help me.” She had learned a long time ago that if she begged enough, she would get what she wanted. Or, rather, what they wanted from her. “Two minutes, Mr. Pierce.”

“Fine. All right.” The man turned to his security guy. “I’m going upstairs, Ken. I’ll be back. Tell the quartet to play Beethoven.”

“Thanks so much,” Laura said as she followed the man upstairs in the beautiful ball gown that her bosses had purchased for her. “I really appreciate it.”

Pierce led her to his library. In the evening light, Laura could make out the spines of various books. Her eyes drifted to a well-worn copy of Pinocchio. “One day, Laura, you too will be a real girl.”

“So, what do those asshats at Forbes want to ask about?” Pierce asked as he sat down on one of the leather armchairs. “Is this about the merger?”

“Yes. How do you feel about the SEC getting involved in it”

“I don’t really care. As long as it passes scrutiny, then…” His eyes looked up in terror at the beautiful girl in the red dress. Something metallic was glinting from her hands. “What is this? Who…?”

“I am Death,” Laura whispered into his ear as she stabbed him in the neck with her claw. “Destroyer of worlds.”

she laughs, wide grin of pearly teeth displayed as she looks through the rearview mirror of barbie's sparkling pink car. when serena was a child, she used to love pink, but then her mother said neon pink was tacky and so for years, serena didn't wear it. then, she reached fifteen, and she wore a bubblegum pink mess to cotillion -- it was the best moment of her whole year, even if she was high at the moment and could barely speak without twitching her jaw. the stares, the murmurs, the sideway glances at how low her neckline was - it was worth it.

taking a roadtrip down california's highways with barbie roberts is kind of like wearing that pink dress to cotillion while high -- it's exicting, pumps her with adrenaline; it makes her feel alive. maybe it's the way she stands in the convertible and screams at the top of her lungs while music blasts in the stereo, maybe it makes her feel that same rush.