When I learned this round would be water themed, I thought I’d caught a break. Growing up on an island, swimming since I could walk—this should be my advantage. I didn’t realize it would involve pretending to be a bloody merman. I can’t think of anything worse.
“The cameras will love you,” Matilda says, mistaking my horror for stage fright. “Trust me.”
I strip down to my underwear, thankful she doesn’t order me to remove that too. My hands still shake as I pull on her creation. The costume slides on easier than I expected, the fabric molding to my body like a second skin.The scales shift and gleam with every movement, throwing rainbow light across the walls.
“Perfect fit!” Matilda claps her hands. “Now relax those shoulders, sweetie. You’re wound tighter than a spring.”
I try to loosen up, but my muscles refuse to cooperate. Especially when she produces brushes and pots of paint in shades of blue and green. She begins painting my arms and legs with some kind of shimmer that makes my skin look like it’s been kissed by moonlight. The paint is cold, and I can’t help but flinch.
“Breathe,” Matilda murmurs, not unkindly. “Just breathe.”
But breathing feels impossible when each brush stroke might be part of preparing my corpse.
Her brushes trace patterns along my biceps, down my forearms, across my legs—swirling patterns that make my skin look like scales where the costume doesn’t cover it.
Next comes my hair. She spins my chair to face away from the mirrors and gets to work. Every tug and twist makes my scalp itch, but I don’t dare move. When she finally stops, she turns me back. Half my hair is pulled up in an intricate twist held with what looks like green ribbon styled to resemble seaweed, complete with little tendrils that drift down around my face. The rest hangs loose past my shoulders, somehow looking more deliberately tousled than messy.
“Beautiful,” she breathes.
I have to admit, this woman has talent. The green complements the shimmering paint, and the style frames my face in a way that’s almost… artistic.
Then she reaches for a makeup brush loaded with shining silver.
“What the hell is that?”
She stares at the brush, confused. “Glitter, honey.”
I jerk my head back so fast I almost tip the chair. “No.”
“It’s just a little—”
“If that shit gets in my eyes, I’m screwed,” Ispit at her.
Matilda’s face falls. “It won’t,” she promises, but her voice wavers. “I’ve done this hundreds of times. I know exactly how to—”
“I don’t care how many times you’ve done it. I need to see clearly in that arena.” Guilt gnaws at me. She’s just doing her job, and here I am snapping at her like she’s the enemy. But the thought of ‘glitter’ clouding my vision when Elijah comes at me with the Deathball makes me feel sick.
“But… I have to,” she says, still holding the brush, frown lines etching deep across her forehead.
Something in her tone makes me pause. The way her eyes dart toward the door, the tremor in her hands as she grips the brush.
I relent. “It better not go into my eyes.”
She applies the glitter with quick, efficient strokes, dusting my cheekbones and the bridge of my nose with silver. Then she orders me to shut my eyes while she sprays something over my face.
“Open.”
She spins my chair so I’m facing the large dresser mirror, and I stand to get my first full look at what she’s created.
The person staring back at me doesn’t look like Robin Shore from Atrea. This creature is all shimmer and scales, beautifully wild hair and sharp cheekbones highlighted with subtle makeup that makes my gray eyes look silver. The costume hugs every line of my body, the painted designs making my skin look like it belongs underwater.
I start laughing.
It bubbles up from my chest, sharp and brittle—the kind of laughter that’s one step away from sobbing. This is insane. This whole thing is completely fucking insane. They’ve turned me into some kind of mythical creature, dressed me up like a storybook character, and I’m supposed tokill someonewhile looking like this?
The laughter keeps coming, and I can’t stop it. My chest feels tight, like I can’t get enough air.
Matilda takes a nervous step back.
