Chapter Text
Carrie laughs as she plucks another bobby pin out of Noryn's outstretched hand.
"The way I remember it," she says, adding the pin to her already-elaborate hairstyle, "you tripped over nothing at all, Mika. Coffee everywhere and not even a bump in the rug to show for it."
"Pff, sounds like Anderson," Suzu snorts from her perch on the armrest of a sofa. I stick my tongue out at her, and she replies in kind without a moment's hesitation.
"Slander," I say. "All of it."
"Oh, it's okay, Mika," Naomi chimes in. "You're just kind of...accident-prone. You always have been, ever since we were kids."
"That's not doing a lot to comfort me, but thanks all the same." I swear I see Naomi wink at that. All these years of her being the mature friend and mere months of dating Suzu already has her acting up. I fear for the future.
"Anyway," I continue, "I don't know why we're talking about me when there's a perfectly good bride to be fussing over."
"The bride says keep picking on Mika."
"Carrieeeeee."
"Nope, the bride's word is law," Noryn says. "Otherwise I'd be doing a lot more than just holding these."
Carrie chuckles. "I already told all of you: I don't need any help getting ready."
"Not that you would ask for help if you did need it," Noryn comments, handing over the last bobby pin.
"Well," Carrie says as she secures her updo at last, "did it work out?"
She turns from the mirror to hit us with a few quick poses. Of course it worked out. With the dress, the hair, and the all the accessories Pandora could hope to sell you, Carrie looks just as she planned to for her wedding. Meticulously planned, I should say. For weeks and weeks.
When everyone's ooh's and ahh's subside, we're finally free to move on with our plans to get the wedding going. As the other women start to clean up any spilled makeup powder and make their final checks in the mirror, I can't help but smile at the easy chatter filling the room. Suzu and Naomi--my lifelong best friends--fitting in so well with Noryn and Carrie, who I only met through the incuboys (and of course, I love them too).... Maybe the sentimental bastard was me all along.
Still, I wish Diana could have made it. I thought she had really become part of the family two years ago, when she agreed not to force any of the incuboys back to Abyssal Plains and we all bonded over game night. But her visits have become few and far between, not to mention short. As far as I know, she hasn't even met Carrie yet. And when she does visit, she seems troubled, though she never admits it. It just--
Crash.
I am on the floor. There's mascara pooling on the carpet next to me. Not again.
The other girls are absolutely howling with laughter.
"Are you okay?" Carrie asks through giggles.
"Absolutely not," I say. "I'm dead. I've died. And you're all laughing."
"You sure talk a lot for a dead body," Suzu says, eyes watering from laughing so hard.
"I'm a ghost, and I'm haunting you for bullying me."
I pick myself up off the floor and cross my arms at the little mess I made.
"We could go find something to clean it with," Naomi offers once the laughter subsides. I realize then that the others are all ready to move onto where the reception is being held.
"No, I can do it," I say. "The best part about always tripping over air is that you learn to clean up after yourself pretty well."
"If you're sure."
I wave them all on. "Go ahead. Parties don't really start until I arrive anyway."
"We'll see you at the reception," Noryn chirps.
"Thanks for taking charge of the cleanup," Carrie adds with a wink.
Then they're gone.
And something else fills the space.
dsjhfdsjaksjhdhgfdghfgajskjdhjdbvhbgfsldhlspdcknjcbgwyqtwdukljbcsjdhas
At least, that's what it sounds like to me. It's definitely a voice coming from someone I can't see, but the words themselves are completely incomprehensible.
"Excuse me?" I ask the empty room. "You're gonna have to speak up and also speak English. I know a bit of French but not really enough to do anything beyond, like, order some salad. So English is preferable, yeah."
"Shut the fuck up," the voice says.
"Yeah, like that!"
"You don't have to talk to her," another voice cuts in. "You just have to get her."
"Whoa, whoa, what do you me--"
I'm not even given the liberty of finishing my sentence before I'm quite unceremoniously grabbed by four invisible hands around my ankles and dragged into the floor. Into the floor! I'm going to die and the last thing I'll ever see is that goddamned mascara puddle on the carpet. This is the worst possible timeline.
Except.
Except I do see something else. The mascara puddle gave way to darkness, but that darkness is giving way to...
"DIANA!"