Mimic by C. L. Denault

Author:C. L. Denault [Denault, C. L.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780578447360
Publisher: C.L. Denault
Published: 2019-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

25

No Deals

Freedom. It was mine again.

I thought about it as soon as I woke up. I thought about it more during my steamy, extra-long shower. By the time I’d pulled on a pair of leggings and slipped a fancy tunic over my head, I was dying to get out of my bedroom and enjoy it.

“That looks classy.” Gem handed me a pair of slouchy suede boots. They were black, like the leggings, and purposefully low-heeled; Julianey had replaced all my boots after discovering that I tripped in anything higher than an inch. “Are you sure you don’t want to wear the other top? It’s so cute.”

I glanced at the bed, where I’d tossed her first choice. It was cute—pink and fuzzy, with billowy sleeves and ribbed cuffs. Sparkly black gems dotted the neckline. But it ended at my waist, and I refused to walk around with my backside exposed. I’d opted instead for a sleeveless white tunic that fell to mid-thigh. The wide, see-through band of black mesh at my waist was a little racy, but I could handle it. Better the bare skin than an accentuated bum.

“This will do.” I nudged my feet into the boots and went to my dresser, where Morry’s pendant glittered against the neck of a black velvet bust. Lifting the chain, I let it dangle from my fingertips. I hadn’t worn it in days, and I had no desire to put it on now. But I needed to mend fences. “Could you help me, please?”

“Of course.” Gem fastened the chain around my neck, tucking its clasp beneath the soft, thick collar that encircled my throat. “So, you finally get to leave your suite today. What will you do first?”

My stomach growled. “Eat.”

“Good call.” She came around to face me. “What about your hair? Straight again, or curly? I could braid it for you, if you’d like.”

I’d forgotten about my hair. It was still pinned up from my shower. She’d straightened it the day before with one of her magical heating tools, and a braid would be easiest. But that was a symbol of my past. If I wished to be treated like a lady, I had to look like one.

“Curly, if you don’t mind.”

She sat me down in the dressing room. While we waited for the iron to heat up, she applied a light coat of cosmetics. I watched carefully, noting each step, as I’d been doing for days.

“You remember this part, right?” She held a short, fat brush above a palette of colored circles. “Pick a shade, swirl, blow off the excess.”

I chose my favorite—a rosy pink—and blew on the brush before she swiped it gently across each side of my face. She used circular motions to blend the color into my skin, then let me inspect the results.

“It looks so natural.” I tapped a fingertip against my cheek, impressed. It was as flushed as if I’d pinched it, the way I’d done in the village. But that only lasted a minute or two.

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