Mischievous

Chapter Eight

        "Will this do?" Lilja offered me a knife with a blade the length of my hand. I greedily accepted it.

        I nodded. "Yes, this is perfect. Um, do you think you could count to three for me? I'm just about to do what might be classified as a life-changing decision, and I could use the support."

        "What do you plan on—"

        I was worried my fingers were starting to get clammy. "Less asking, more counting, please."

        "Oh, alright. One."

        I took my hair in my hands and brought it all to one side, resting my left hand on my collarbone.

        "Two."

        My right hand held the knife, which I positioned near the back of my neck.

        "Three."

        With my eyes closed — A stupid idea, I know. — I brought the blade down, doing my best to swipe through as much hair as possible. Both Lilja and I gasped.

        I stared at myself in the mirror. "Well, it's not the most ravishing thing." Handing her back the knife, I made one last inquiry. "Do you have those scissors now?"

        She stared at me blankly before pulling the pair from one of her pockets. After receiving a brief explanation of what I was expecting her to do, she started to trim my hair. In the end, there were about two feet of black tresses on the floor with a few miniature strands lying atop them. My face was now framed by a bob that came from beneath my right ear down to my left shoulder.  I liked it. Not only would it make it easier for me to sneak around, but it also helped me differentiate myself from the noble Asgardian women who'd no doubt be at the ball tonight.

        "It suits you well." Lilja piped, agreeing with me. She walked over to my closet. "Now, what would you like to wear this evening?"

        I wasn't able to dress like a boy, which I think killed me the most, and so we put on a mini fashion show. It was weird having someone whom I could call my friend. I'd secluded myself so much during my time on Earth, that I'd never had the time to get to know anyone. They had always been beneath me. Lilja was sweet, but not overbearingly so, and she was just as bright as me. In fact, I'd asked, and she was indeed my age but wasn't shorter or less mature like the kids from my school. It was enjoyable being in her company.

        Finally, with just enough time to touch up my face and send me on my way, we picked out my gown. It was black and spread out from my waist to stop just barely an inch above the floor. A tiny sash was tied in a bow around me, and we tightened it up in the back to prevent the dress from slipping. Its sleeves — if you could even call them that — were off my shoulder and had the same sort of transparency as pantyhose. No matter how elegant I felt, what with the rouge on my lips and cheeks, a glaring contrast from my pale complexion, and all of the other make-up Lilja has put on me, it still seemed off.

        Why was I going to a ball? It didn't make sense for me to be dressed like royalty even if my gown wasn't the frilliest or brightest. There may not have been gold dripping down my neck, but it still felt over the top.

        "Oh, Winter!" Exclaimed Lilja. "You might as well be a princess!"

        And that's exactly what I disliked about this whole ordeal.

⚬ ⚬ ⚬

        "Now presenting Lady Winter Edwards."

        One of the guards who frequently stood post outside the throne room had become the honorary herald for the ball. Lucky for me, no one seemed to care about the names being announced. That was, apart from the man who'd forced me to take part in this event. As I'd walked further into the room, thanking myself for choosing flats over heels, he'd met my gaze. Honestly, I'd been hoping I could somehow avoid him. There were certainly enough people here, and it was sort of incredible how fast he could pick me out of the crowd. He waved me over.