Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

One wouldn't think that hard plastic would make a particularly comfortable place to sit for most people over the age of eight, but Gangle quite honestly couldn't think of a place she wanted to curl up more than against Zooble's chest.

With her sketchbook propped up against her knees, Gangle sat in the V of Zooble's legs, one of their arms casually draped across her lap while the other propped up their head as they rested their elbow on the arm of one of the couches. Their half-lidded gaze followed her light pencil strokes, lulled by the soft, rhythmic sound of scritch-scritch-scritching on paper. As she leaned back, nestled as close to them as possible, she could feel the gentle puffs of their breath tickling her neck as they tilted their head to accommodate her desire to rest her own against their shoulder.

Zooble did things like that effortlessly, it seemed. Knowing without even a word exchanged between the two of them what Gangle wanted or needed. To make space for her to exist beside them, because that's what they wanted, too.

It was still a little new, this subtle shift of intimacy that crossed from a cherished friendship into something that got their non-existent pulses racing. Something that hummed a pleasant and warm beat deep inside hollow and empty chest cavities that were day by day filling up with feelings neither thought were even possible for them to experience in a place like this. Or at all.

But as pleasant as the tingling tendrils of warmth and giddy lurches of two half-starved hearts were, beneath it all pooled an underlying sensation of dread. Of doubt. It rippled with each what-if that dripped down into its depths, a bottomless cavern that had lived within Gangle from the moment she was born. The waiting dark she felt she was always doomed to drown in one day.

Like the abstracted in the cellar.

While trapped in a digital space with limited human interaction, Gangle and Zooble hovered in their own liminal space. Aware enough of reciprocal feelings, but neither making a move to tip the scale one way or another. If they didn't move forward, nothing beyond couch cuddling and hand-holding and casual touches to a shoulder or thigh… then they could fool themselves into thinking it would be easier to put all their weight into the "friendship" side. Like spilling too much into "lovers" would cause the fragile mechanism to collapse entirely.

But in a world where deeper intimacy wasn't even possible, where neither knew if they could even kiss, and where emotions went beyond whatever digital sensations their pixelated bodies could feel, it might already be too late.

At least for now they were content to linger in this gray area; an unsaturated space that allowed them to have this closeness without having to face the weight of it meaning anything more.

Even if it already meant the world to Gangle.

She was certain Zooble must've harbored feelings like these for another person at some point in their life, but for Gangle it was a first. She'd dated a couple of times in her life, hoping and yearning for the fluttering, butterfly sensations and deep desire to be near another person that she'd read about or watched play out in her favorite shows on repeat. But it never happened.

Well, until now, anyway.

"Ugh. Somebody please bleach my eyes. I don't remember consenting to watch such lewd acts of PDA."

Gangle's pencil stilled as she flinched at the sound of his voice, but the arm Zooble had draped over her just pulled her a little closer. "Then why don't you do both of us a favor and go somewhere else?" they sighed, tilting their head back to glare at Jax.

"Why should I? Last I checked, the couches were for everyone to use. Not just for you sickos and your perverted fantasies." Jax's pout suddenly shifted into a cheeky leer. "Speaking of, whatcha drawing, Gangle? Something new for me to show Ragatha?"

Gangle snapped her sketchbook shut and hugged it to her chest before he could come over and swipe it from her. "It's nothing! Just… pose practice."

"I bet I know exactly what kinda poses you're practicing if Zoobie here's so interested."

Zooble lifted their head enough to flash their middle finger at him, but it was immediately censored by Caine's face and a cartoonish boing sound, as was the next word they spoke. "Fuck off."

"Geez, you guys are so boring," Jax groaned, his long-legged stride carrying him to the purple couch, the farthest away he could get from them both.

"Thought we were perverted sickos," Zooble drawled, mocking him. "Geez, Jax, make up your mind."

"The two aren't mutually exclusive, Zoobie." He flopped onto the couch, crossing his legs at the ankles as he folded his hands behind his head. "You're boring in the sense that you're predictable. You just can't resist flaunting your gender freakiness in everyone's faces, only to get ticked off whenever it's brought up as the crux of your whole personality, even though that's pretty much all there is to you. And Gangle's just… well, look at her."

Gangle's mouth twisted to the side, the thin black line zig-zagging as she glanced away. He didn't even have to say anything. Her mind filled in all the blanks for him. Pathetic crybaby who can't do anything right. Friendless loser who'd rather draw people in secret than actually talk to them. Closet pervert because it's always the quiet ones that are the freakiest.

The feeling of being perceived, even if there wasn't much of her that even existed in the first place, had her pressing closer to Zooble's chest like she could disappear into them altogether. But they didn't let her. Shamelessly doing exactly what Jax suggested, Zooble leaned forward over Gangle's shoulder, the flat side of their head gently clinking against her mask.

"I'm looking," they hummed, their voice low with a gravely rasp that caused a titillating vibration to dance all along her ribbons.

"Zooble." Gangle hid her face with her sketchbook, fighting back the urge to squirm as she both heard and felt their warm laugh as it rumbled through their chest. "Stop."

Jax looked physically pained. "Oh my god."

"Hey, you started it," Zooble pointed out, giving Gangle some breathing room to recover before she started hyperventilating in their arms. "But regardless, I couldn't care less what you think of us. If you think we're boring, fine. If you think we're freaks, whatever. Doesn't matter to me. Come back when you've formed an opinion of me that's actually based in reality and maybe I'll consider it."

Gangle peeked up at Zooble from over the top of her sketchbook, the frazzled heat they'd inspired gentling into a warm, affectionate simmer. With her comedy mask in place, her smile was bright and big as she gazed up at them. Pride was a foreign feeling to her, especially when it came to herself, but when she looked at Zooble and how they unapologetically took up the space in the world that was rightfully theirs, it was all she could feel.

Closing her eyes in contentment, Gangle dropped her head to their shoulder with a purposeful nuzzle. Their plastic body stiffened for a second, joints clicking and locking into place, but it didn't last long. Gangle could feel the way each individual piece relaxed in unison, softening as quiet acceptance rolled through them, their entire body shifting with it. Adapting to it.

She was half-tempted to climb off them and tug them back to their room so the two of them could have a quick snuggle session in private before the day's adventure inevitably whisked Gangle away, but the window of opportunity drew its curtains closed as Ragatha, Pomni, and Kinger made their way over to the couches. An embarrassed flush painted her cheeks as she sat up a bit straighter, still awkwardly perched in the space between Zooble's legs, but at least not draping herself all over them like gift wrap.

"Good morning, everyone!" Ragatha greeted cheerfully. "Did you all sleep well?"

"Yeah. Pretty good," Gangle offered up, returning her smile with a smaller, more uncertain one.

"Eh, wasn't the worst night's sleep," Zooble tacked on when Gangle had nothing more to say. "Had a couple of weirdly vivid, disjointed dreams, but overall nothing too crazy."

"Weird dreams?" Gangle's mouth pursed with concern as she blinked up at them.

Their eyes crinkled softly. "Nothing bad," they assured her. "Just weird. Like uncanny valley type stuff."

"Yeah, I've had dreams like that before," Pomni chimed in, her kaleidoscope irises shrinking a bit in recollection. "And nightmares. It's strange that somehow we can still dream in this place."

"I know what you mean," Ragatha chuckled. "They can feel so immersive. Just like the rest of the circus. I mean, it's nice when it's a good dream, but when it's a bad one…" She shuddered and rubbed her own arm. "Those can really stick with you."

"My dreams always feel more like I'm watching a movie," Gangle said, fiddling with her sketchbook. "Like I'm never really part of them, good or bad. I'm just sort of there… just watching."

"Creepy," Jax muttered.

"I don't think I've had a single good dream while I've been here," Pomni replied, eyes still comically small and voice strained.

"Neither have I." Zooble raised their hand in solidarity.

"Now there's a shock. And here I thought that you were totally out here enjoying something like one of those steamy, Sims 2-style cutscenes with Gangle running on repeat in that funky head of yours, Zoobie," Jax butted in, mouth pulled taut in a satisfied, little smirk. "Oh, but wait. That wouldn't be a good dream, would it? Nevermind, you're so right."

Zooble's eyes narrowed. "I don't even know what you're talking about. I've never played the Sims."

A collective hush fell over the circus as Ragatha, Pomni, and Gangle looked at them in shock.

The stunned silence lasted for a solid several seconds as Zooble warily glanced at each of them. "What?"

"I miss my save file," Gangle sighed after a beat. "I was on gen eight of my legacy family."

"Did somebody say adventure?" Caine materialized above them, eyes practically bulging out of his teeth as they looked in two opposite directions.

Five humans stared at him with varying degrees of resignation, while one was more vacant with his eye contact. A tap to Gangle's hip encouraged her to clamber off both Zooble and the couch, so as not to impede their potential escape. Clutching her sketchbook to her chest, she moved to stand beside Kinger as Caine began his morning spiel.

"Apologies for the late start, everyone, but my latest project has been taking up a lot more of my processors than I anticipated," Caine explained, not that anyone was at all disappointed by the late start. "Since I still need to devote as much of my creative genius as possible to this, I'm afraid I'm going to have to rely on the suggestion box for today's adventure."

Everyone visibly perked up, exchanging hopeful glances that Caine deliberately ignored. "I know, I know. You all must be so disappointed, but sometimes sacrifices must be made for the pursuit of great art. In this case, it's going with one of your mediocre and unoriginal ideas. But I can promise you, what I'm cooking up will be more than worth the wait!" With a snap of his fingers, the suggestion box flew over to him, still bursting at the seams with years and years' worth of ideas. "Now, let's see… aha! 'Can we please have an adventure at a high school prom? Where we can dress up, dance to music, and have everything be decorated with a cute theme.'"

Gangle's eyes widened as she muffled an excited 'eep!' behind her sketchbook. Her ribbons fluttered with a fizzy cocktail of excitement and anxiety. Of all the ideas to get chosen, she'd never really expected it to be this one.

"Wowee! That sure is one mediocre idea, alright!" Caine exclaimed, and Gangle's face immediately fell, a small chink in the back of her comedy mask forming, though no one could see when it was still half-obscured by her sketchbook. "But why not? In this case, the more simple-minded the better!"

"Wait, are you kidding me? 'Prom?'" Jax scoffed. "Who suggested that?"

If Gangle's mask wasn't already a stark white, she was sure her face would've visibly paled as the fleeting joy of having her suggestion picked was suddenly snuffed out by reality's harsh reminder. If anyone found out this was her idea and let it slip, Jax would do everything in his power to make it a living hell.

And if nobody else wanted to do it, well, then she'd just feel bad for forcing them all into it. Like how she'd tried so hard to prove how capable she could be at a job she knew inside and out by forcing them to play the parts of perfect employees instead of just letting them have fun and waste all the ingredients by making ten stack abomination burgers for all their weird customers—

"I don't know. A high school prom doesn't sound all that bad," Ragatha said, drawing Gangle's attention back into the moment instead of spiraling further into herself. Despite the positivity she was trying to project, Ragatha's smile was slightly strained, but it still inspired a small spark of hope. "Though it's been years since I've even stepped foot in a high school..."

"Yeah… not exactly keen to relive my high school days," Pomni added, mouth pursed with a thoughtful expression. "But I guess the dances themselves weren't too bad if you went with a good group of friends." She sent a warm smile Ragatha's way that perked her up—and Gangle, too, by extension. "Besides, at least we know there won't be anything there trying to kill us." Pomni's expression shifted as she pointed a firm finger in Caine's direction. "As long as you promise to keep it a normal, no stakes adventure, Caine."

"You people's concept of normal is still beyond my extremely high functioning and adaptive creative abilities," Caine answered flatly.

"And you're boring!" Bubble piped up, floating over from nowhere.

"Well, what if we voted on the prom's theme, then?" Pomni suggested, steepling her fingers together. "And you just stick to whatever that is. That's pretty normal for a prom."

"Oh! Would a ranch theme be an okay suggestion?" Ragatha asked. "Like with more rustic decor. Maybe fairy lights wrapped around wagon wheels and picket fences?"

"Sure, that can be one of the suggestions." Pomni glanced around, eyes brightening when she found the person she was looking for and beckoned her over. "Gangle, could we use your sketchbook to write down the ideas for the theme?"

"Oh…! Okay, sure." Slinking her way over to Pomni, she flipped to a blank page towards the back and wrote down: Prom Ideas. 1) Ranch Theme - fairy lights, rustic decor. "What else?"

"A mafia theme," Jax mimed aiming a gun directly at Gangle's head, pulling an invisible trigger that she instinctively flinched from. "With guns."

"I think we've had enough guns for a while," Pomni shot down. "My school did a Roaring 20s theme for our prom. Lots of gold accents and feathers. The buffet was themed like a speakeasy. It wasn't too bad."

Gangle wrote that one down, then tapped her pencil against her mouth as she pictured her ideal prom. "Um… what about maybe something like… a starry night theme?" she suggested. "With paper lantern stars hanging overhead and arches that look like shooting stars or clouds?"

"Yeah, that's a good one!" Pomni encouraged, then glanced at Jax. "You want to try giving us an actual suggestion this time?"

"What's the point? These all sound so boring and typical," he grumbled.

"That is the point," Pomni told him. "We want this to be as boring and typical as it can get. No surprises. No stakes. Just a party where we can all dress up and dance for a couple of hours. And maybe spike the punch."

"Tch." Jax glanced away. "I dunno. The 1920s one sounds fine, I guess."

"Okay. Zooble, Kinger? What about you two?" Pomni looked over at them.

"I couldn't care less what the theme is," Zooble answered simply.

"A garden…" Though Kinger didn't look like he was paying attention, staring at the checkered pattern on the floor, he did speak up at being addressed. "A garden full of butterflies and camellia flowers…"

Pomni perked up, a warm smile spreading across her face. "A garden, huh?"

"Oh, that sounds like a lovely idea, Kinger," Ragatha agreed, her hands pressing over her heart with her own soft smile. "My vote's for that."

"Yeah, a garden theme would be really pretty," Gangle piped up, raising one of her ribbon hands. "I vote for that one, too."

Pomni nodded, then looked at Jax and Zooble. The latter nodded and raised their hand to indicate their vote was also for the garden theme, while the former just rolled his eyes and shrugged. Well, the majority still ruled.

"Okay, a garden-themed prom it is. Think you can manage something like that for us, Caine?" she asked.

"Of course I can! What kind of advanced AI do you take me for?"

"And um—!" Gangle raised her hand again, only to hunch in on herself when everyone looked her way. "Can we… pick out our own outfits?"

"Hah! Why would you want to pick something out yourselves when I can design the perfect outfits for each of you based off my intimate knowledge of your mind files?" Caine asked like he'd never heard such a ridiculous request, looming over Gangle as he waited for her reason.

"Just 'cuz—!" Her legs trembled as he stared at her, like his question wasn't actually rhetorical and he truly wanted an answer. "It's… kind of part of the experience, right? Going shopping with your friends and… picking out accessories?" Her voice cracked as her comedy mask threatened to as well under the pressure.

"Oh. Well, in that case." Caine opened a portal in the center of the room, along with what almost appeared to be a never-ending rack of formal wear that stretched from one end of the circus to the other, with rows and rows of dresses, suits, and the odd, occasional costume more suited to a Halloween party than a formal dance. "Go ahead and pick out your outfits, then head into the fractal noise for a night you humans will never forget!"

Everyone glanced down at the rows and rows of clothes. Instead of being grouped by size, there were pictures of each of them hanging over specific rows, indicating which clothes would fit their respective avatars. Ragatha, Pomni, and Gangle all visibly relaxed at seeing a practical guarantee that anything they tried on marked for them specifically would fit. There was even a section for shoes and accessories like jewelry, hair pins, and purses. Changing booths popped up into existence at the very back, along with several mirrors to check themselves at all angles.

"Oh, wow!" Ragatha's smile brightened as she looked at all the options available to them. "It's been so long since I've gone shopping. And even longer since I've had someone to go with…"

Pomni smiled over at her. "Me too. This could be fun."

"Whatever. It's just clothes," Jax drawled, already slinking down the aisle marked with clothes for him and pointedly ignoring the more feminine options.

"Well, if you want a second opinion on anything, just let us know," Pomni called out to him, mouth twisting to one side when he didn't respond. "Gangle, you want to come look for an outfit with me and Ragatha?"

"O-oh!" She perked up. "Yeah! If you don't mind."

"Of course we don't," Pomni chuckled. "Besides, you're the one who said you wanted the experience of picking out clothes with your friends, right?"

Her mask pinkened, the space between her ribbons pulsing in place of her overexcited heartbeat. "R-right. Yeah, that's… that's what I want."

"Cool." Pomni glanced past her. "And the invitation's open to you, too, Zooble. If you're up for it."

They waved it off. "Appreciate it, but think I'll pass. Shopping with other people's not really my thing."

"Fair enough." Pomni shrugged, no hard feelings held against them as she and Ragatha ventured into the first row of clothes.

"I'll be there in a minute!" Gangle squeaked out, then glanced over at Zooble.

When she'd first written down the suggestion, she hadn't known Zooble well enough to even dare dreaming of asking them to be her prom date. But now that they were closer… now that this was actually happening, she couldn't think of anything she wanted more than for them to see her dressed up and to dance with them under twinkling lights. Where it felt like the world narrowed down to just the two of them, like nothing else mattered beyond gazing into each other's eyes as they pressed close and moved to the music, their faces inches apart as they erased what little space existed between them…

Ribbons all a-flutter, Gangle shyly crept over to them, still hugging her sketchbook to her chest.

"Zooble," she started, an invisible tightness seizing her empty chest as she glanced up at them. "Do you—um… I mean, would you—? W-want to…? Uh. W-what colors are you thinking of dressing up in?" she asked, smile wibbling across her mask, her true question cowering in the back of her throat.

"Huh?" They startled a bit, like they were suddenly tugged out of their own head. "Oh, none. I'm not going."

Gangle's eyes widened, mouth parting in a surprised little "O." "You're… not?"

Zooble shrugged, arms folded across their chest. "Yeah. Doesn't matter that it's a more 'normal' adventure. The last place I'd ever want to be, aside from this circus, is a high school prom."

"Oh…" Chink. Gangle quickly glanced down at her feet, feeling the crack chipping away at the inside of her comedy mask a little bit more. Don't guilt them into it. Don't use your emotions to manipulate them. It's fine. Of course they wouldn't want to go with you.

Except that wasn't true. She hadn't even asked them yet, had she? They didn't know that's what she wanted. Not if she didn't say. Zooble knew her better than most, but that didn't make them a mindreader. If she actually asked them to go to prom with her, then surely they would at least consider it…

But if they didn't want to go, then why would she put them in a position where they had to either sacrifice her happiness or their own comfort? Where they had to weigh her wants against their own?

"I… I get that." Gangle's smile came easily with the comedy mask still in place, eyes crinkling with a happiness she tried really hard to feel. Their happiness matters, too, it's not all about you. "Yeah, you shouldn't go if you don't want to. It's just another silly adventure, after all." She fiddled with the spiral coil of her sketchbook, ribbon getting caught on the metal a couple times. "But… if you change your mind at all… it'd be really nice to see you there. I'll save a dance for you! You know, just in case."

Zooble blinked. Then they looked at her. Really looked at her. Their bland, half-lidded gaze suddenly widened as something slotted into place for them. Gangle recognized it immediately. Maybe not a mindreader, but they didn't really have to be when she made it so painfully obvious, did they? They'd figured her out in seconds, even with the mask.

Bristling, she hugged her sketchbook closer and scampered around them towards the racks of clothes. "Anyway! I've gotta meet up with Ragatha and Pomni to look for dresses! I'll see you later!" she blurted out before they could say anything.

"Gangle, wait—!" Zooble reached out to stop her, but she'd already flitted away, her ribbons disappearing amidst the skirts of ruffles and tulle. Their hand dropped to their side, expression still wide-eyed and stupefied. "Shit. She just asked me to prom."

"What do you think, guys? I'm not so sure it goes with my hair." Ragatha turned to look at herself in the mirror, her good eye roving up and down the bold, red-sequined dress hugging her doll body.

"I think you look great," Pomni told her, sitting on a bench that had been conjured near the changing area, her chosen outfit already draped across her lap while her friends continued their search. "Maybe if you wore your hair up, it wouldn't feel like too much?"

"Maybe…" Ragatha bunched up her thick, yarn hair in her hands and bundled it atop her head to get an idea of what that would look like. "I don't think I ever had the confidence to wear something like this in real life. My mom always said bright colors made me look washed out."

Pomni made a face at that, but took a breath and focused on what she could help with, here and now. "It doesn't matter what she'd say or think right now. What matters is whether or not you're comfortable in it. If it's something you want to wear, then wear it. No matter what anyone else thinks."

Ragatha swallowed thickly, blinking back tears as she looked at herself. "I… don't think I really know what I want." She let go of her hair, letting the yarn curls fall back down to her shoulders with a cartoonish bounce.

"Well, we could start with what you already know you don't want," Pomni suggested, smiling at her reflection through the mirror. "It didn't look like you were the biggest fan of the strapless dresses."

A grateful smile knit its way across Ragatha's face. "Yeah, no. Not really. I prefer to have a little something up here… though I don't mind an off-the-shoulder look. I also know I don't really like gold." She glanced down at shimmery detailing on the bodice of her current dress and chuckled. "Or sequins."

"Gotcha. No gold, no strapless, and no sequins." Pomni hopped up from the bench and laid her dress down across it. "Let me go grab a couple other options for you to try, I'll be right back. Hey, Gangle, you doing okay in there?" she asked as she passed the changing booth. "Need me to grab you anything?"

"N-no, I'm okay. Thank you!" Gangle called out.

She hadn't taken in as many dresses to try as Ragatha had, but she'd yet to come out of the booth in any of them. "Okay, well, let us know if you need anything," Pomni told her, then headed over to Ragatha's section of dresses to grab more options.

Ragatha ducked into her changing booth, slipping out of the red gown to exchange it for the last one she had tucked away in there. Though everything did fit their bodies perfectly, it didn't mean they liked the way they looked in everything. Even if their proportions didn't match their real bodies in the slightest, they still had styles they all remembered gravitating towards more than others. Though, like in Ragatha's case, sometimes the style was forced on them.

Or like Gangle's, where she didn't often have opportunities to dress up, so much so that she didn't recognize herself in anything. Her ribbons smoothed over the skirt where it flared out, then tilted her head to try and see the back of the dress. It would be easier in the 360 degree mirror out where Ragatha had just been checking herself, but that meant potentially letting both her and Pomni see when she wasn't sure she was ready.

If she couldn't see her own reflection, Gangle would've sworn that the ribbon that made up her throat had been tied into an actual knot. Several dresses hung on their hangers, all with a very similar look and feel. She had a specific vision in mind, and the dress currently draped over her ribbons came the closest to what she'd been picturing for herself.

She could hear rustling in Ragatha's changing booth and Pomni's footsteps didn't return right away. Now was as good a time as any to try and get a peek in the bigger mirror. Her ribbon rib cage pressed against the dress' bodice as she inhaled deeply, then took a peek beyond the curtain. The coast was clear.

Gathering up the skirt of her dress so it wouldn't rustle, she lightly tip-toed past Ragatha's changing booth over to the three mirrors. It was brighter out here than in the booth, bringing out the colors in the fabric and the way the different textures played with one another. Gangle let the skirt fall as her breath hitched at the sight of herself from all angles.

She remembered this feeling.

One delicate ribbon hand came up and pressed against her porcelain cheek, while the other felt through the air fruitlessly for where her hair should've been…

Angling the curling iron away from her face, a single strand of long, black hair bounced into place beside her cheek. Most of her thick hair was bundled up into twin space buns, tied up with pink ribbons and pinned with heart-shaped clips in each center, but framing her face were the two coiled ringlets she was trying to get to lay symmetrical on both sides.

She didn't usually do much with her hair. While it had a natural curl to it, she didn't really know what to actually do with it. Most days she just rolled out of bed and ran a brush through it, then lamented how frizzy and puffy it ended up. Sometimes she'd use a flat iron on it, just to tame her flyaways and dry split ends, but her hair was so thick, it took way too many passes to get through all her layers evenly before school.

But today wasn't an average school day. It wasn't even day anymore. The sun was already setting outside from the sliver of sky she could see through the narrow window above her shower.

She set the curling iron on the edge of her bathroom sink and turned off the heat. Mindful of touching it while it was still hot, she leaned forward and balanced the bubble of her right contact lens on the tip of her pink-painted index finger before carefully laying it against her dark brown iris. They'd been her gift to herself for her 18th birthday, something to help boost her confidence instead of hiding behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses. The left lens slipped off her finger before she raised it to her eye, a distressed squeak escaping as it plopped into the basin. She plucked it out and doused it with contact solution, swirling it around to disinfect it before trying again. Her eye watered as the lens settled on its curve. She blinked rapidly to try and ease the slight sting before it faded, washed away by her own tears.

Blotting at her face with a tissue, she was glad she'd saved her make-up for last. Dabbing a bit of foundation on her cheeks, she covered up any traces of acne scars and blended it all together with a fine powder. Normally that was all she did when it came to make-up, but tonight she was going all out. With an artist's hand, she lightly pressed a pearlescent shadow to her eyelids, then traced her lash lines with black, liquid liner. It curled up at the edges, delicate and feminine in a way that had her actually smiling at her reflection when she got the shape just right. Then she added her favorite pink lipstick, the perfect shade to compliment the baby pink of her prom dress.

She rubbed her lips together and popped them a few times, turning her head side to side to admire her handiwork. A pair of golden, star-shaped hoops and a delicate pink ribbon choker completed the look. She took a step back, taking in as much of her outfit as she could in her bathroom mirror.

Her dress was floor length, with three distinct, ruffled tiers that billowed out from just under the bust. When she'd tried it on in the store, she'd felt just like a magical girl uncovering her powers for the first time. Like a newly hatched Sailor Moon. But now with the completed look, she felt as elegant as Neo-Queen Serenity and nearly didn't recognize herself.

She'd never felt prettier.

With a giddy squeal, she twirled in front of the mirror—or, as much of a twirl as she could manage without banging her elbow on the doorknob. She gathered up her skirt, practically prancing on her tip-toes out of the bathroom in search of her heels. They had darling bows on them to match her ribbon choker and were tall enough that she'd had to practice walking in them for over a week to make sure she wouldn't break her own ankles while crossing the parking lot.

She would've practiced for longer, but…

She'd waited until the absolute last second to buy her prom ticket. The singles were more expensive, with couples getting a five dollar discount if they bought a pair. Some friends went in on tickets together if they didn't have a date, though, just to save a little bit of their spending money. But she knew, even in that case, there was no one who would ask her. Waiting was just wishful thinking on her part.

The kids in her Advanced Art class thought her manga and anime-inspired style was immature and embarrassing, so she didn't really talk to anyone there. And someone in anime club started the rumor that she liked girls because she recommended Revolutionary Girl Utena for Magical Girl May last year, so she didn't really talk to anyone there either. It didn't really matter that it was a little bit true—she couldn't help the butterflies she felt when a pretty girl smiled at her and thanked her for the pencil, just as much as she couldn't help blushing when she brushed shoulders with a broad-chested boy in the lunch line. No, what mattered was that it was treated as this shameful, humiliating secret that was in the eyes and mouths of everyone around her for weeks until they… until they just forgot.

They forgot, like the weeks she spent sobbing in the bathroom stall during every lunch period were nothing.

They always forgot her like she was nothing…

So, no, she didn't hold any expectations in her hopeful heart that someone would take pity on her and ask, even just to split the cost of a cheaper ticket. If she was going to go to prom, it would be on her own. No date. No friends in a rented party bus. No parents taking pictures of their teenagers looking all grown-up and on the cusp of entering the impending world of adulthood.

But she'd made her peace with it the moment she saw her dress. After trying on dozens, she'd finally found the one that made her feel magical. Beautiful. A leading lady in her own life's story. The girl next door who finally got her glow up after years of hiding behind thick, frizzy hair and too-big glasses and chunky sweaters that swallowed the very shape of her.

One night in a dress like this would fix her.

She fastened the tiny, delicate buckles of her heels, grabbed her pink and white clutch with the bow and scalloped edging, then gathered up her skirt and stepped out from within the sanctuary of her bedroom.

Not an hour later, red-rimmed, black-smudged eyes stared through the windshield at the line of party buses rolling up to the hotel banquet hall.

Peals of laughter echoed in the near distance as piles of teenagers tumbled out in their pretty dresses and pressed suits. But it was tear tracks that streaked down her cheeks, black eyeliner bleeding into her blush, leaving her once perfectly painted on face a blotchy mess as she sat sniffling in the driver's seat of her mom's Civic. Her hands clutched the steering wheel, the bones of her knuckles pulling at her skin with how tight she held onto it.

Stop crying.

The engine wasn't even on. The car dead silent and dark. Shadowed in the tightly enclosed space, she watched the parade of her peers cross beneath the banner that welcomed Pattonville High's class of 2008 to their senior prom.

Her lower lip trembled, fighting a losing battle as her chest hitched with a breathless sob. Fresh tears welled up, blurring her vision and ruining her mascara even more as she frantically and fruitlessly blinked them back. There were tissues in the back, but she couldn't let go of the steering wheel to grab them.

She couldn't look away.

Eventually the last party bus drove out of the parking lot and the line to get into the hotel banquet hall thinned out. Stragglers picked their way through parked cars; several even squeezing past right next to her, but they didn't see her. No one peered in the darkened windows for a glimpse of the girl no one wanted to talk to.

Because no one would. No matter how pretty she felt on the outside, it wouldn't change the fact that on the inside she was nothing special. Nothing worth knowing.

It was all a facade. A pitiful attempt to feel normal amongst her peers when they all knew she was just hiding behind a mask. The giddy girl twirling in her bedroom wasn't real. Not when it was so easy for her to trip and fall and shatter.

Stop crying.

Another sob was wrenched from her chest, a wretched, ugly sound that only made her cry harder. She was such an ugly crier. Too messy. Too loud. Too much.

God, she was ruining everything.

"Stop crying!" she shrieked, knuckles straining as her grip strangled the steering wheel. "Stop! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

She slammed her head back into the headrest repeatedly, strands of black hair slipping out of her buns. Her throat seized up, choking her anguish into a vacuum-sealed whine as she felt herself physically unraveling.

There was no one outside anymore. Everyone in line had gotten through. All that was left to prove it was prom night was the banner, the balloons, and the broken girl.

Her sobs petered out. Only her ragged, congested breathing rattled through the car. Face tacky from the dried tears and damp makeup and contacts sticking every time she blinked, she stared listlessly out the windshield for another hour until her hands finally unclenched from the steering wheel.

She turned the key still in the ignition. The engine rumbled to life. The beams from her headlights blinked into existence, illuminating the line of empty cars in front of her. Heart pounding, she backed up and out of her parking spot, peeling out onto the street with a lurch.

She drove. She passed the turn off for her house. She drove. She got on the freeway. She drove. She took a random exit. She drove.

When she finally stopped, she was in front of a Denny's off the highway.

She stared at the flickering yellow and red of the large sign she'd parked under, ears ringing with the buzz of its electricity even if she couldn't actually hear it.

She couldn't go home. Her parents would still be up. They'd hear her come in and they'd take one look at her and know.

Denny's was open twenty-four hours. She could stay as long as she needed to and they wouldn't kick her out. And she was far enough away that no one from her class would come out this way to wind down after the afterparties.

She pulled down the visor and flipped up the mirror. The lights shone into her eyes as she squinted at her reflection. Thick, black smudges lined her eyes. Dirty tear tracks sloped down the apples of her cheeks all the way down to her chin. Her hair was falling out of her space buns and her bows were crooked. With a sniffle, she finally grabbed a handful of tissues from the backseat and blotted at her face.

It only helped so much.

Snapping the mirror and the visor away, she leaned back in her seat with a sigh. She glanced down at her dress. It was too pretty for the mess she was. Too nice to walk into a Denny's wearing. Everyone would see her and know where she'd come from.

Craning her neck back, her gaze roved over the backseat as she felt around for the sweatshirt she normally kept back there. Her fingers latched onto the worn fabric and she pulled it into her lap. Though it was a plain black hoodie, it was faded enough that old grease stains had been soaked into the cotton that no amount of washing would ever clean. The drawstrings for the hood were frayed and chewed on, as were the edges of the sleeves. But it was big and baggy and would cover up most of her dress…

She stilled as she started to pull it over her head. The smell of old, fast food french fries engulfed her sense of smell. Breath hitching, a new swell of tears squeezed out from beneath her lashes.

Right. Of course. Why wouldn't her old, ratty, greasy, gross as fuck hoodie smell like stale french fries?

Shuddering through her own pitiful whimpers, she pulled the hoodie over her head.

God, she hated herself.

If her space buns hadn't been lopsided before, they certainly were now after being squeezed through the pullover. The smell of days-old fast food engulfed her, masking her subtle, sweet Princess perfume that she'd gotten as a Christmas present from her parents two years ago. The bottle was still full.

Flipping the hood up over her hair, she grabbed one of her sketchbooks that she kept in the pouch of the backseat. She slipped a pencil from the glove compartment into the front pocket of her sweatshirt, then wobbled her way out of the car. On unsteady heels, she slunk into the diner off the freeway, wincing at each satin swish of her pink, floor-length skirt.

The seating hostess took one look at her and tucked her away at a booth behind a wooden partition even though the diner was practically empty. There were a couple of older truck drivers sitting at the bar with their coffee who barely spared her a passing glance and a small group of college students studying for finals with a late night pancake party. They watched her walk past, their stares ultimately ambivalent as they returned to more serious matters than someone's botched prom night.

Sniffling to herself, she huddled in her booth and set her sketchbook on the sticky tabletop. She didn't look at the menu as she started sketching. Aggressively crossing out shapes and lines until her waitress took her order.

A slice of apple pie with ice cream and a hot chocolate. Cakes and pies, any kind of sweet treat really, were her go-tos when she was upset, but there was something particularly comforting about apple pie that she craved as tears continuously threatened to spill over the puffy, red rim lining her eyes.

Apple pie and ice cream certainly wouldn't make her night worse, anyway.

The door to the diner clattered as loud, young voices suddenly filled the dining room. A group of kids who might've been at the tail end of middle school or just starting high school filed in, heading straight for the small arcade section hidden away in the back corner of the Denny's. Right within her line of sight.

She hunched her shoulders as they passed by, shoving each other and swearing every other word and making enough noise to draw the entire restaurant's attention in their direction. Two of the kids slid into a booth unprompted, arguing about nachos over cheese fries, while the other three gathered around the Addams Family pinball machine shoved next to a crane game and the dispensers full of cheap plastic toys, candy, and stickers.

One of them felt her eyes on them, then elbowed their friend with a snicker. Soon multiple faces turned towards her and she immediately dropped her gaze to her sketchbook, only to jump out of her skin as the plate with her apple pie was suddenly set in front of her. Her knee banged against the table, startling her waitress and spilling her hot chocolate across the top of it. Raucous laughter rang out from the kids as a choked wail warbled out of her throat. Tears welled up as she wrenched her sketchbook off the table and hastily mopped up the liquid, the waitress fetching more napkins for her while she tried to salvage what she could of her drawings. Luckily only the edge had been stained, but she still patted the paper feverishly as more napkins were dropped off along with a fresh cup of hot chocolate.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to startle you," the waitress apologized, helping clean off the rest of the table. "Is there anything else I can get you?"

She shook her head frantically, sniffling as the distant snickers from the kids in the arcade echoed inside the cotton shield of her hoodie. Her face burned with embarrassment as she set her sketchbook back down on the now-dry table. The apple pie a la mode in front of her blurred as she blinked back her tears.

"You think she's gonna have, like, an actual breakdown?"

"Like she's not already in the middle of one."

"If I was gonna have a breakdown, I wouldn't want to do it in a fucking Denny's."

"Right? Like, if I was gonna crack, I'd go to like, I dunno. Cracker Barrel or something."

"Guys, shut up. She can probably hear you."

She tuned them out as she quietly cut into her pie with the side of her fork. The spiced apples against her tongue were thick and cloying with their sweetness, sticking to her throat as she tried to swallow. She couldn't really blame them for laughing at her. She knew how pathetic she looked and remembered being around thirteen or fourteen years old. How the flowering seed of insecurity pushed its vines between your ribs to choke out any empathy for the momentary relief of "at least I'm not that messed up."

She took another bite of pie and doodled a flower blossoming out of a girl's eye, vines trailing down her cheek like bulging veins, while the other was half-hidden by her long hair. Drawing the long, sweeping strands inspired her to then draw Utena—dressed like a prince and brandishing her sword, her long hair fanning out in the wind. Powerful. Brave. Protective.

Beautiful.

So focused on her drawing, she didn't notice the approaching footsteps until someone was standing right next to her table and cleared their throat. Her spine spasmed, head jerking up and hood falling back as she pressed herself into the booth to avoid kicking the table again. One of the kids was standing there, their own grimace rippling across their face at her reaction.

What? They'd come over to make fun of her to her face now? Was it a dare from their friends or did they lose a bet? What could they possibly want with some sad stranger just trying to eat her apple pie in peace—

"Hey… um. Sorry about my friends. They're kind of jackasses." The kid jerked their head in the direction of the arcade area and the obnoxious snickering of middle schoolers who had nothing better to do on a Saturday night.

She ducked her head, cheeks burning with humiliation as she focused on the shading of Utena's eyes. "It's fine."

The kid lingered by her booth, watching her draw with their silent stare. Her shoulders tensed the longer they stood there, expressionless face impossible to read in the few flashes she got of it as she peeked up at them. The baggy, black hoodie and low-rise jeans ripped at the knees and the beanie pulled over greasy, flat-ironed curls—she could tell their hair had a curl to it, she did the same to her own hair when she was their age—could've worked on a boy or a girl, and their voice had a rasp to it that didn't help either way.

She supposed it didn't really matter.

They shattered the silence with a sudden, blunt question. "You get dumped at the dance or something?"

She couldn't help the self-deprecating laugh that forced itself out of her chest. "I wish. Then at least I'd have a good reason for looking so pathetic." She glanced up, the kid tilting their head to the side curiously. "I didn't even go to prom."

"What?" Their brow furrowed as their gaze flicked down, like they needed to double check her bottom half was still in fact a floor length, flouncy pink prom dress. "Why not? You got dressed up and everything."

She forced a weak smile as she shrugged helplessly. "Your guess is as good as mine."

"What does that mean?"

"That I basically chickened out for no good reason. Couldn't tell you why."

"Oh." Their gaze lowered again, likely considering their fastest exit options so they could get out of talking to a loser like her.

She turned her attention back to her sketch, pencil scribbling dark lines for shading.

"What're you drawing?"

"Nothing," she answered reflexively, then winced at the brusqueness of her own voice. "Just a character I like," she amended, tone gentling as her pencil strokes slowed.

"Oh. She looks cool."

She lifted her head, looking up from her drawing to see the kid actually admiring her messy sketch of Utena. "Oh, um… thank you," she whispered.

"Yeah, I like her sword. And that one with the flower coming out of that girl's eye. It's kinda dark and edgy, but like in a pretty way." They nodded approvingly, then glanced over at her and smiled. A sweet, genuine thing that reminded her of the lingering hopes of childhood as they tangled themselves in the newness of her dreams. "I like to draw sometimes, but I'm not very good."

"That's okay," she found herself saying before she had time to overthink it. "If it's what you like to do, that's all that matters. Besides, art is subjective. There's no one way to be good at it. If there was, I think it'd lose some of the joy of creating."

"I guess," they replied, but it wasn't like your typical apathetic teen.

Despite their appearance, they really looked like they were taking what she said to heart. Or maybe she was just so desperate to make an impact on anyone, she'd delude herself into becoming some kind of inspirational art sensei to an aspiring young hero. Like Rukia to Ichigo in Bleach or Rin to Shirou in Fate/Stay Night or Luna to Usagi in Sailor Moon.

Oh, who was she kidding? She was probably more like Myoga to Inuyasha, honestly. She certainly felt more like a cowardly flea than the beautiful girl she'd tried to be tonight.

"Dude, c'mon! Quit fucking around, my mom's here!" One of the kids hollered as the pack of them finally filed out of the Denny's dining room.

"Okay! You don't have to fucking shout!" they shouted back, garnering a few dirty looks from the older patrons just trying to enjoy their 10pm Grand Slams, but she wasn't one of them when they flashed an earnest, apologetic glance her way. "See ya around."

"Have fun with your friends," she stammered out in response.

They paused as they passed her booth, then glanced over their shoulder at her and leaned against the partition. "I don't have a good guess why you decided to skip your prom, but I think it's too bad you didn't go. You look really pretty."

She really didn't, but they said it with such sincerity, she didn't have it in her to argue. Shoving their hands in their pockets, the mysterious kid walked out of the diner, off to wherever their friend's mom was taking them. A tear streaked down her cheek and dripped onto her sketch, muddying the line work like she'd muddied her own makeup.

But wobbling at the corners of her mouth was a small, disbelieving smile.

God, she really was a mess if a pitying compliment from some random kid still managed to cheer her up, even just a little. It wasn't what she'd dreamed of, not even close, but even she couldn't deny she'd sort of gotten what she wanted, after all.

Someone noticed her and thought she was pretty.

"Gangle…"

"Huh?" She blinked her way out of her reverie, mask streaked with pink as Pomni and Ragatha's reflections flanked her.

They both wore warm smiles, pure delight shining in Ragatha's good eye while Pomni's looked on her with a little more subtlety, wary of scaring her off. "You look incredible. Is this the dress you're thinking of going with?"

"Oh, you have to, Gangle! It suits you perfectly!" Ragatha gushed, pressing her hands over her heart, already wearing a new dress in a cooler, lilac shade. "You look so pretty!"

"Oh, I… thank you." Gangle's shoulders hunched up, the sheer cap sleeves of her dress rising with her ribbons.

It wasn't an exact replica of the prom dress she'd worn when she was eighteen, but she didn't really want it to be. This was her chance to rewrite her story. To actually step across the threshold as beautiful as she always dreamed of looking. To live her life like she truly was the star of it.

That being said, it still had very magical girl vibes, with five fluffy, tulle-lined tiers flaring out from the bodice instead of three. It also had a very defined sweetheart neckline and the cute little cap sleeves gave the illusion of a more girlish figure rather than her usual bare ribbons. It also came with a matching sheer shawl, but she liked the overall look without it. Or at least leaving it draped around her elbows instead of adding more to her shoulders. The baby pink color was exactly what she remembered picking out years ago though. Soft and sweet. Indulgent in a way she rarely let herself be.

Pretty in a way she never felt.

Like she was just fooling herself again.

"I don't know… Do you really think it suits me?" she mumbled, smoothing her hands over the tulle tiers again.

"Yeah, I think so. You're always drawing your characters in frilly clothes like this. It makes sense that you'd like this style for yourself, too," Pomni reasoned.

"And the pink is so cute on you," Ragatha added.

Gangle's mask warmed from the compliments and the way parts of her had been noticed without her even realizing. She swished her skirt from side to side, then gave an experimental twirl. The fabric lifted away from her in a graceful whirl of pink, encouraging her friends to coo and clap for the quick display.

"Okay, okay," she giggled, hiding her face in her hands. "I think this is the one."

"Great choice." Pomni flashed her reflection a grin that softened a bit when Gangle finally peeked up at the mirror again. "I was worried you were having a hard time in there. You didn't come out for so long."

"I'm sorry. I was just looking for something specific." Gangle wrung her ribbons in front of her, gaze flicking between both Pomni and Ragatha's faces. "I don't usually go shopping with other people, so I'm not really used to coming out to show off or anything…"

"I get that," Pomni assured her. "It's been years since I've done something like this, too."

"Yeah. Aside from shopping with my mom, I've never really had someone else to go with. But I've always wanted a girls' day out," Ragatha chuckled, shrugging it off like it was silly she'd yet to experience something like that. "Thirty years old and I've never just… hung out with my friends at the mall."

Gangle laid a hand on Ragatha's arm. "Me either."

Pomni completed the circle by placing one hand on each of them. "Well, this might not be a traditional mall, but I'd say it definitely counts as hanging out with friends."

They both smiled at her, then Gangle flitted away from the mirror with a series of apologies and urging Ragatha to take a look at herself next. While the dress was pretty, it took three more tries of the options Pomni brought—and a lot of encouragement—before she settled on a deep blue velvet dress with a V-cut for the neckline and a slit up the side. They all talked hairstyles as they bundled up their choices, with Pomni lamenting the inability to remove her hat from her avatar and Gangle wishing she had anything that resembled hair to go with her outfit.

"I just feel like it's missing something," she sighed, hugging her dress to her chest as they walked through the racks towards the shoe section.

Pomni hummed thoughtfully as she looked at the back of her mask and the thin ribbon that held it in place. Glancing around, she snagged a red ribbon tie from a random dress and held it up against Gangle's arm. It wasn't the right color, so she bounded a little ways down the aisle before returning with another.

"Can you crouch a little…? Yeah, like that." Pomni still had to bounce up on her tip-toes to reach, tongue poking out the side of her mouth as she tied a quick bow to the ribbon at the back of Gangle's mask. "How's that?"

Gangle touched the bow with an awed look, then followed the tails down where they trailed over her shoulder. "Oh," she breathed, then darted around in search of a mirror.

When she found one, her comedy mask shimmered with joy. The red loops of the bow were a little lopsided from Pomni's rushed job, but she could see the vision. They framed the sides of her mask like really low buns, with the ribbon tails acting like long hair cascading down. She could probably even curl it with scissors if she was careful.

"Pomni, this is perfect!" she squealed, whirling about to hug her. "I love it! Thank you!"

"Hey, no problem!" Pomni laughed, hugging her back. "Sometimes it helps to get an outside opinion."

"I know it's not the same, but I have some fabric markers if you wanted to color your hat black to match your outfit," Gangle offered, wanting to give back to her in some way.

"I think I'll take you up on that, thanks."

The three of them quickly perused the shoe selection, with Ragatha picking a pair of silvery pumps befitting Cinderella herself while Pomni opted for black flats. Gangle had worn shoes on adventures before, though usually they just appeared on her avatar courtesy of Caine, so it was a new experience to try on various styles. Part of her wondered if she should keep it simple like Pomni and go with a cute pair of ballet flats since she wasn't really used to having anything on her feet, let alone heels. But then she saw the strappy heels with pink bows and scalloped edges—nearly identical to the pair she'd picked for her own prom—and she knew she couldn't pick anything else.

As they picked through the accessories next, Gangle held up a few necklaces to her dress. She couldn't do a bangle or bracelet like Pomni and Ragatha. Everything just slipped right off her ribbon arms when she tried. So necklaces were really the only option aside from something like a brooch…

Gangle tilted her head as she studied a flower brooch with a citrine gem embedded in the center. She had an idea.

"There's something I want to do real quick before we go," Gangle told the other two, not choosing any of the jewelry options as she gathered her dress, shawl, and shoes. "I'll meet you there, okay? Don't wait for me!"

"Oh, uh, okay?" Pomni blinked after her. "See you there, I guess."

With a flouncy wave, Gangle scurried out from the main area of the circus and flitted down the hall to her bedroom. She tucked herself away inside, immediately scrounging through her art supplies. While drawing was her primary form of artistic expression, she also dabbled with other mediums like paints, clay, and origami. It was the sheets of crepe paper specifically that she was looking for.

Even if Zooble said they weren't coming to prom, that they didn't want to go and had no interest in it, Gangle couldn't deny that there was a chance—however slight—that they might change their mind. It was dangerous to hope for it, but with her comedy mask intact, she couldn't quite convince herself to let go of the idea. Zooble had figured out that she wanted them to come, after all. Maybe… maybe they'd stop by just to check on her. Just to see if she'd kept her promise and saved that dance for them.

Even though she was doing this for herself, she really… really just wanted to see them there. 

So in case they did show up, Gangle couldn't possibly meet them empty-handed. Not when she was the one who asked.

While corsages and boutonnieres typically went with the prom outfit—the dress color or the tie, vest, and pocket square—there was no guarantee that Zooble would take it that far. For some reason beyond Gangle's understanding, the two of them were the only ones to receive avatars without clothing. At first she'd felt naked—exposed and vulnerable—so overly aware of how her body looked and moved through the world compared to the others, but by now it was such a natural state to be in, she rarely gave it much thought. Plus, once Zooble arrived, Gangle felt a little better about her lack of clothes now that she wasn't alone. She wasn't sure how long it had taken for Zooble to adjust, or if they'd even paid it much mind since they already had Gangle as an example to follow, but with the way they changed out their parts every day like changing outfits, maybe they didn't really feel the lack.

In any case, Gangle wasn't going to assume they'd dress up—just as she wasn't assuming they'd show, she was just hopeful, that's all—so that meant the colors either had to be entirely baby pink or something else.

She didn't like the idea of unilaterally deciding the color they'd both wear just because of the dress she'd picked out, especially if Zooble did actually dress up, too. They probably wouldn’t go with something like baby pink. It wasn't exactly a cool color. As far as she knew of the tradition, though, the corsage and boutonniere were supposed to match and signify that a couple was just that; a united pair that no one would doubt were meant to be there together.

Looking over all the colors she had at her disposal, the decision was a rather easy one to make in the end. With a delicate touch, she folded and crinkled the paper until they resembled flower petals. She layered them in the shapes of roses, one fashioned into a corsage and the other a boutonniere.

She smiled warmly at the rainbow of colors unfurling in her grasp, the tiny paper flower coming to life as she eased the petals open and fluffed them up a bit. When the boutonniere was finished, she hurried to put on her dress and shoes. Sat at her vanity, Gangle pinned the colorful blossom to her dress, admiring the bold colors bursting from the soft, baby pink and rich red of her ribbons. Her mouth curved into a sweet, cat-like smile as she admired some of Zooble's many colors adorning her—magenta, yellow, orange, turquoise, purple, red, and green.

Even if they decided not to show, this way she could carry a small piece of them with her.

Then she looked at her face in the mirror, tilting her head pensively as her smile faded. Her red ribbon hand brushed over her pale cheeks, as dramatic as ever against the stark white mask. She could see her box of art supplies reflected back at her, just behind her. Gangle went over to it, rifling through until she found her paints.

She'd never done this before, but she imagined it would work just like painting a mask in real life. With a fine-tipped brush, Gangle dipped it into black paint and carefully lined her eyes with it. She gave herself a winged eyeliner look with a soft curve at the tip, then added a few lower lashes as well. Like mascara. Using pink paint, she traced the shape of her mouth with a thin line, adding just a hint of a heart shape to her "upper lip" and a little pout to the "lower lip."

Gangle turned her head to the left, then to the right as she watched her reflection. The bow at the back of her mask shifted with her like real hair, its tails framing her face with a satin shine. It was… strange.

Not in a bad way, but… she wasn't used to seeing herself actively trying to make herself look pretty. For a second, the girl in the mirror was eighteen again, her dark eyes excited as she admired herself, not yet aware of how she was minutes away from ruining her entire evening. From taking the first wrong turn of many that inevitably led her here.

Gangle swallowed, her hand trembling as she lifted it to brush against her boutonniere, drawing strength from it. This time would be different. This was her adventure. Her dream.

Her chance to finally let go of a memory she was so tired of carrying all these years.

Releasing a shuddering exhale, Gangle picked up the paper flower corsage she'd made and slipped it into her dress' pocket.

"It's time," she told herself, bracing her shoulders as she left her room.