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The Reverend Daughter was used to applying her paint in the dark; light was hard to come by in the depths of the Ninth. Light was for the weak. Or for idiot cavaliers in ridiculous sunglasses.
Harrow relished in the familiar feel of her makeup. Except it wasn’t familiar. The atmosphere here was clearly incompatible with everything – the paint was gritty and strange in her fingers, it irritated as she smeared it on her skin. It even smelt wrong.
Just another reason to resent this place.
Veil on, Harrow glided out of the room and hoped to remain unnoticed for the duration of the day.
No such luck.
Gideon was reclining against the wall, flirting ineptly with the garish twin from third. The force with which Harrow refrained from rolling her eyes almost hurt.
“Ah! There she is!” the gaudy twin cried, hopping down off her perch, leaning suggestively towards Gideon. “Lovely to see you, Harrow.”
Harrow glared in response.
“Er…” Gideon blinked at Harrow stupidly. Honestly, someone needed to put blinkers on her around Coronabeth.
“Eloquent as always, Griddle.”
Gideon still blinked bemusedly. “What, uhm…”
She was interrupted by an asinine giggle from behind Tridentarus’ hand. It was a shame murder was frowned upon, Harrow was convinced this whole experience could be vastly improved with certain… adjustments to the roster.
Without sparing another moment, Harrow swept from the room, leaving Gideon babbling and drooling behind her.
***
The day had been another washout.
Mirrors were still an alien novelty to Harrow, but she found herself in front of one, staring dumbfounded at her own face. Her own face, which, admittedly, she did not consider very often. But which she was fairly certain wasn’t usually so… sparkly.
She inhaled a ragefilled breath and yelled, at the top of her lungs, “TRIDENTARIUS!”