THE HOSIERY IS FINE AND EXPENSIVE. it peels off her thigh with the tenderness of crêpe paper skin, shedding downward until the whole of it sags at her ankle in accordion folds. the discarded husk of an old self. now exposed in the bathroom light, the scrape of dove's knee shines wetly. glossy as something freshly kissed.
outside the closed door the party drones on, as parties are ought to do. the noise is dimmed by the wall now placed between them, and it makes everything feel livelier than it had seemed on the other side — there's something about being wrestled and restrained that makes a thing, even a gathering, look more powerful than it is.
OLIVIA BLOOM. I'VE GOT YOU.
"thank you," dove's gaze rolls back to look at where @toeat crouches in front of her, getting caught in the transition by their reflection in the mirror. the other woman's hair is warmer than her own, closer to gold than platinum, but there's a visual harmony to the arrangement of their bodies. how the knock of olivia's elbow is the same ruddy pink as the bullseye of her knee. like one circuitous, pretty thing. "i'm sorry to have appended 'nurse' to your title of 'host' tonight."
