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926 Words
"f*****g no way"
Isabelle was missing when the designer gown came. I waited so long until few minutes passed and a woman in a black top and black skirt, walked over to my silly standing figure.
She looked like a fugitive, with scary eye shadow and dark maroon lips.
I stared at her in shock when she pushed me to a chair.
"Get her ready. She is the Missus piece"
What?
Before I could ask anybody anything, I was being tossed around like a chess piece, from one makeup artist to another, a costume designer walked in and flushed a gown on me. She adjuted the frills, and the shoes.
Multiple women ran over my body, giving me peeks into a past I had.
Where were you, Isabelle?
Brushes and palattes were starting to attack me already.
On a seat that revolved around, and a piece of cloth wrapped my neck.
A large spread mirror showed me how dull and imperfect I looked.
Unlike the atmosphere with a mix of excitement and relaxation there, I felt tensed and dazed.
The makeup artist began by prepping my skin. They gently cleansed my face to remove any impurities and applied a primer to create a smooth base for the makeup. You might feel a light, cooling sensation as they work, and they could ask you questions about your skin type or any specific preferences you have for your look.
Next, they apply foundation, using a brush or sponge to blend it seamlessly into my skin. This created a even tone and helped to cover any blemishes or imperfections. As they worked, they might use a concealer to brighten up under eyes or highlight certain areas of my face.
The artist then moved on to my eyes, carefully applying eyeshadow, eyeliner, and mascara to enhance my natural eye shape and color. They might use different brushes and techniques to create the desired look, whether it’s a subtle, natural finish or a more dramatic effect.
For my lips, they started with a lip liner to define the shape and then apply lipstick or gloss for a pop of color. They might adjust the shade based on their preferences or the overall look they going for.
Finally they ended, with an anticipated makeup spray for the setting.
I looked in the mirror.
A polished version of myself, glittering ready to shine at the special occasion.
The makeup artist smiled at me.
"Good to go"
Really?
I looked like a princess outside definitely, but my nerves were tingling.
My nails were replaced with fake ones.
Was this eno-
"WHERE IS SHE? ZEUS IS HERE!"
I winced, as a sound came.
My eyes looked around for Isabelle, but nobody came to me.
The determinate artist who had done her magic, shifted to another woman.
I stood there, lonely and desolate.
My lack of experience for six years started to hit on my head like a hammer when a rough hand pulled me.
"Come on!"
It was the woman who had warned everyone of some guy's entry.
Was I being auctioned?
God knew.
Isabelle...I miss you.
What happened to you?
In the rush, I lost my phone to even contact you.
"The lights will dim and you enter"
I nodded.
She looked Latino American with a wicked grin. Thick shades of fountain painted her and she kept smacking her lips, in tension.
"Can I do this?"
My lips parted, showing her I was so not ready for a ramp walk.
I barely made down my medical college stairs properly.
Her long eyelashed eyes lay still.
"Your perfect, mia cara. Let's go"
She gave my back a nudge.
And into the darkness I stepped.
Your perfect mia cara..
It wasn't a perfect walk though.
I noticed the lights flash across my face, a long stadium that pulled out in a slow music. No practice sucked, because the heels were struggling to reach my pace.
But I loved the way, it revolved around my shoulders and tummy, and the ground.
I felt a connection to the strange stage.
"Your stage presence wasn't so nice"
"Why do you walk around like a sloth?"
"Keep your eyes on the audience"
"You cannot do it, Winter"
I cannot do it.
No, I cannot.
When those eyes hit me like a strike of lightining. It almost took me by surprise, that a man could catch so much attention.
A quiet, understated charisma.
Picture someone with a refined appearance—perhaps a classic style that reflected both elegance and confidence.
His features were well-defined, with a strong jawline and deep-set eyes that carred a sense of wisdom and calm. His posture could be relaxed yet poised, suggesting a person who is comfortable in his own skin.
His grooming was impeccable, with neatly styled hair and a well-maintained beard or clean-shaven face, contributing to a polished look.
His attire was timeless, a well-fitted blazer and coloured pants of some new brand, combining sophistication with a touch of effortless charm.
Overall, his beauty comes not from flamboyance but from the serene confidence and self-assuredness that come with age and experience.
I froze.
That man's brown eyes zeroed on my presence, running shivers down my spine.
He knew I noticed.
And with the amusement and mockery he had playing in his eyes, a string of electricity of fate struck us.
I moved forward and he crossed his legs in the distance.
My need to see him closer pushed me forward.
And f*****g hell, did I walk.
Because it became the talk of the town.
- Writer
