Chapter Text
Cinder hadn’t always looked the way she does now—well put together, confidence radiating off her like she had every detail of her life under control.
Not at first.
She still remembered back then: her hair worn long—naturally black, heavy, straight—falling past her shoulders like a curtain she could hide behind. No bright red. And no carefully chosen style.. Her uniform was probably the only thing that looked consistently clean and neat, and even that felt plain on her.
She wasn’t sloppy, and she wasn’t ugly.
Just… for lack of a better word, grim. Putting effort into something as “small” as appearance felt pointless.
Because she knew how people saw her. That never changed—no matter what she did. So why even try?
The worst part was they didn’t say anything to her face. It might have been better if they had. At least then it would count as them talking to her.
They never did.
Not with the name Dreadwell attached to her like a crest.
But Cinder could hear them anyway.
It was always the same.
She’d pass a group of girls and their voices would dip, just a fraction. Their eyes would flick to her hair, her pale face, the way she walked —with what Nina once called her “eerie aura.” Some would step out of her way on instinct. Others would offer polite smiles and then look away too quickly.
The worst were the ones who stared like she was an attraction—like they couldn’t believe she’d actually left her dorm room looking the way she did.
It had always been that way.
At first she ignored it. Maybe if she looked like she didn’t care, it would stop hurting. Maybe they would realize she wasn’t as scary as they thought.
It didn’t.
Not really.
⸻————————————————————
Her friends noticed, of course.
It happened one afternoon in the courtyard—sunlight filtering through rose bushes, stone warmed by the day. Nina perched on a bench with fabric draped across her lap, fingers moving fast, pincushion bracelet strapped on like jewelry. Tala stood nearby with her arms crossed, a steady presence, watching everything like a guard. Undina lounged with her phone, scrolling Magicam. And Cinder sat rigidly upright, a book open on her lap as she read.
Undina looked at towards the other three, they made eye contact before noding
“Okay… we need to talk.”
Undina frowned at her screen, then looked up at her black-haired friend with a dramatic sigh. “Cinder, babe.”
Cinder didn’t look up from her book. Whatever they were about to say, she knew she wasn’t going to like it. “What.”
Undina waved her phone vaguely. “You’re gorgeous, but you’re doing that thing where you look like a ghost who escaped the attic.”
Cinder blinked once. “That is an opinion.”
Tala’s mouth twitched like she was trying not to smile.
Nina gasped like Undina had insulted a sacred relic. “She’s not wrong,” Nina whispered, then clapped a hand over her mouth like she’d betrayed someone.
Cinder’s gaze narrowed. “And?”
Undina set her phone down like she was calling a meeting. “Okay. Here’s the deal. People already think you’re scary.”
Cinder’s expression didn’t change. “I am not.”
Undina leaned forward, eyes bright. “I know that. We know that. But, darling, you look like you’re about to hex someone if they look at you wrong.”
Cinder gave her a flat stare. “I do not.”
Nina pressed her lips together, then said softly, “Cinder… we know it bothers you. And as your friends, we can’t just sit by and do nothing.”
All three of them nodded in agreement.
Cinder paused. Then sighed—barely. It was the closest thing to permission they were going to get.
“So,” Undina said cheerfully, voice far too bright to be innocent, “we’re giving you a makeover.”
“No.”
“Yes,” Undina countered immediately.
“I do not require—”
“You do,” Nina interrupted, gentle but firm. “Not because you need to change for them. But because… I think you might feel better.”
Cinder stared at Nina, then at Tala, then at Undina. It didn’t sound horrible, honestly. That didn’t mean she was going to give in easily.
Undina grinned like she’d already won. “Sleepover. Tonight.”
Cinder’s voice stayed calm. “I have work.”
Undina leaned closer, dropping her voice into that smooth persuasion she used like a weapon. “You work all the time. One night won’t kill you.”
Cinder’s eyes narrowed. “This is manipulation.”
Undina’s smile widened. “Yes.”
Nina giggled, then quickly tried to look serious. “Please?”
The black haired female looked at Tala, searching for the one person who might shut this down.
Tala sighed, long-suffering. “I’ll have to run it by my vice to see if they’re up for handling things while I’m gone.”
“Hell yeah!” Undina and Nina jumped up and high-fived like they’d won something huge.
Tala’s gaze slid to Cinder. “It might be fun.”
Cinder just sighed, it’s not like she had a choice.
⸻————————————————————
That evening, they ended up in Tala’s room—bigger, and blessedly roommate-free. One of the many perks of being Housewarden.
Cinder paused in the doorway, taking it in. She’d been in Tala’s room before, so that wasn’t what made her stop.
It was what was spread across the floor.
Brushes. Bottles. Nail polish. Hair dye. Curling tools. Makeup palettes opened like strange spellbooks.
Undina swept an arm out dramatically. “Welcome to your transformation arc.”
Cinder blinked. “…What.”
Undina pointed at a chair. “Sit.”
“I can stand.” She replied
The mermaids smile sharpened. “Cinder.”
Tala, already cross-legged on the floor with a bored expression, patted the space beside the chair. “Just sit. Let her do what she needs to do. And if you hate it, we’ll never do this again. Deal?”
Cinder sat.
Nina began brushing slowly, working through the long black strands. “We should keep it dark,” Nina said thoughtfully. “Since it’s your first time, let’s do something small.” She produced a magazine and handed it to Cinder. “Why don’t we look through this? It has, like, a billion hairstyles we can try.”
They circled around her as Cinder flipped through the pages. It took a while before she finally stopped on one.
Undina leaned in. “A peek-a-boo? That might actually work.”
Nina nodded. “Yes. And we can do a deep wine. Or plum. Or that cool ash-brown that still looks gothic but expensive.”
Cinder’s voice went cautious. “I do not want attention.”
Undina tilted her head. “Baby, you already have attention. You’re just not controlling it.”
Cinder stared at her.
Undina smiled sweetly. “We’re going to make it your choice.”
Tala watched Cinder’s face carefully, then added, quieter, “You can stop it anytime.”
That mattered more than Cinder wanted to admit.
She nodded once.
Undina beamed. “Okay. Hair first.”
They set to work.
Nina sectioned Cinder’s hair with practiced precision, hands quick and nimble, pinning parts up. Undina mixed dye like she was an alchemist of vanity, humming to herself. Tala… read the instructions. Poor girl looked completely out of her depth.
Undina smirked. “Honey, why don’t you sit? You’re looking ridiculous.”
Tala glanced up. “I can bench-press you.”
Undina smiled brightly. “And yet, here you are.”
They laughed—Nina with her infectious giggles, Undina with light chuckles, even Cinder with a quiet snort she tried to hide. Tala just shook her head, but she couldn’t keep a grin off her face.
Slowly, the tension in Cinder’s shoulders eased.
When the dye was done, Nina rinsed it and towel-dried. Undina took over, blow-drying and shaping, adding movement, framing. Cinder watched herself in the mirror as her hair changed—still dark, still her, but with something brighter hidden beneath it. Like ink with a flame tucked inside.
Nina clasped her hands, eyes shining. “You look beautiful.”
Cinder’s throat tightened. She looked away. “Noted.”
Undina clapped once. “Now nails.”
They chose a deep plum, almost black in low light. Nina painted carefully, tongue peeking out in concentration. At some point Undina opened her laptop and put on a movie—something about a man with a dream of making it big in the circus.
Then came makeup.
Cinder tried to refuse again.
Undina leaned in, eyes sharp. “You can do mortuary makeup but you can’t handle a little eyeliner?”
Cinder’s eyes narrowed. “That is different.”
Undina grinned. “Exactly. This is fun.”
Nina applied foundation lightly—not to change Cinder’s face, but to soften the tiredness under her eyes. Undina added shadow, careful and smoky. Tala—surprisingly—suggested a liner shape that sharpened Cinder’s gaze without making her look harsh.
When they were done, they turned Cinder toward the mirror.
For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself.
The hair framed her like it belonged to her, not like it was hiding her. The makeup made her eyes look sharper, brighter. Her nails were neat, dark, and clean.
Undina watched her expression closely. “Well?”
Cinder stared at her reflection.
Then, very quietly—like admitting it might make it disappear—
“…I look… presentable.”
Nina squealed. “That means she likes it!”
Cinder’s eyes flicked to Nina. “Yes. I suppose I do.”
Nina smiled wider. “You look pretty.”
Cinder blinked once, then twice, like the word didn’t know where to land in her chest.
Undina leaned against the dresser, her grin softer now. “How do you feel?”
Cinder hesitated.
But she couldn’t deny the small shift inside her—like someone had tightened a loose thread and suddenly her shape held better.
“…Better,” she admitted.
Tala nodded once, satisfied. “Good.”
Undina pointed at the mirror dramatically. “There. Now when people stare, it’ll be because you look cool—not because they’re afraid you’re going to bury them.”
Cinder’s mouth twitched—almost a smile.
Nina hugged her from behind before Cinder could stop her.
Cinder froze.
Then—after a long second—she allowed it. Just barely. Hands hovering awkwardly, then settling lightly against Nina’s arms like she was learning how to accept warmth.
Undina snapped a picture immediately.
Cinder’s head turned sharply. “Undina.”
Undina grinned. “I promise I won’t post it.”
Cinder opened her mouth to argue, then stopped.
Because when she looked at the photo—four girls crowded together, Tala pretending she wasn’t included, Nina glowing, Undina sparkling, and Cinder in the center looking… happy—
Something in her chest loosened.
Just a little.
She looked like she belonged with them.
Cinder swallowed, then looked away quickly.
“This doesn’t actually change anything,” she said, voice calm and controlled again.
Undina leaned close, whispering with a grin, “No. But it’s a start. Sometimes looking better helps someone feel more confident.”
Cinder didn’t answer.
But later, when the lights were out and the sleepover went quiet, all four of them ended up buried under blankets and pillows, eyes on Undina’s laptop as another movie played.
And in the dark, where no one was watching her face too closely, Cinder touched her hair lightly—feeling the softness, the shape… the choice
Undina was right, it was a start.