𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 [𝐣.𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫]

8: 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔫𝔬 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔰

Brigitte found herself in the loo, scrutinizing her face as she applied powder. Lily Evans happened to enter, seemingly enraptured with her makeup routine. Brigitte didn't stop, didn't hesitate, just kept going, for she knew the exact thoughts running through Lily Evans's head.

"May I ask why you wear so much makeup?"

The question was simple, polite, and concise. She knew how she looked, gazing into the mirror with a plush applicator in hand. She fought the constricting feeling in her chest, the urge to leave the room with her makeup half done.

Brigitte looked up, snapping her compact shut. She gave her a polite smile, reaching over for lip gloss. "I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, you clearly don't need it, you're gorgeous," Lily gushed, returning the smile eagerly. There was something artificial about it, like someone desperately trying to convince even themself that it was real.

Anyone else would've found it genuine. The corner of her eyes crinkled, warmth exuding from her quirked lips and cute dimples. But Brigitte had years of practice, deciphering meanings hidden behind eyes.

"Thank you."

Lily didn't seem happy with this response, for she probed with more force. "I guess you get that a lot, don't you? If it bothers you, I'd suggest less makeup and clothes more your size."

Brigitte had to give her credit. She was bolder than she appeared, perfect, proper, Lily Evans. But she knew that those words came from a place of insecurity. Brigitte was perfect, in everyone else's eyes. She couldn't imagine the torture of comparing oneself to the perfect body.

She decided she was to be the mature one. She could tolerate Lily, as she'd tolerated everyone else with their condescending comments.

"I know what you're trying to do, Evans," She said slowly, icy blue boring into the green. "You're baiting me. You want me to become the villain you envisioned."

She blinked, taking a step back. "Excuse me?"

"You want me to go all crazy, admit to my boy-obsessed tendencies, then wildly seduce your girlfriend with my crazy Veela powers," Brigitte said softly, dipping the lip gloss applicator back into its tube. "That's not very feminist of you, Evans."

"I just don't think it's feminist to always want to dress up for the boys. I mean, you could get them all anyway." There it was, the backhanded compliment meant to soften the blow. But contained in the folds of her tone was bitterness, her final sentence igniting a flurry of rage in Brigitte's chest.

Lily talked to her as if her very existence was to please men. Stupid, insipid creatures. They sat in seats of power they didn't deserve, all because of a penis and some testosterone.

"Has it ever occurred to you that I don't dress up for boys? Maybe I like clothes. I know, not a very highbrow interest compared to you, reading stories of deep literature," She whispered, her voice dangerously low. She could handle insults, but to suggest that she dressed up for men was absolutely unacceptable.

She continued, turning to look catch Lily's gaze. "I wear makeup not because I'm insecure or because I want boys to notice my smokey eye, but because I like the colors, the confidence, and so I can watch spiteful girls judge me through their 'all natural' eyelashes. Besides, I like glitter."

"I just don't get how you can look down on other girls when they don't fit traditional beauty standards," Lily returned sharply, her acerbic wit fast as ever. If only she paid attention when Brigitte spoke.

"No. Unlike you, I don't look down on other girls. There is a difference between confidence and arrogance. Arrogance is looking down on someone because you believe you're smarter, just because her eyeshadow is pink and yours is nude."