Page 6 of The Endless Dance

I think of Waverly and Rihana, surely back in New York by now, after having disappeared into the wilds before the lottery. Getting back into their lives as if nothing had happened. Would they think of me in years to come? Would they fight for women’s rights before the next lottery? Would my face be on the posters they hold in the air as they shout: “No to the lottery!” and “Save our women!”

“Alright, Delta,” Rita says, and I jump, blinking rapidly as I come back to reality. “I need you to stand up and drop the dressing gown.”

I sputter. “Drop the dressing gown? I’m completely naked beneath, you know?”

Rita rolls her eyes. “I believe I helped you into it as you stepped out of the bath. Don’t be modest.”

“Fae aren’t ashamed of nudity,” Laska adds casually from behind me. “Besides, you are fine as fuck, Delta. Own it.”

I groan. They were right. Hadn’t I shamelessly bared my breasts to them earlier from the bath? They may have turned around at my request when I exited the tub, but they’d all rolled their eyes and acted as if it were such a hassle to shuffle those two steps.

“Fine.”

I stand and, with a glance at the entrance to the tent, hoping like fuck no one is about to walk in, especially a certain silver-haired, amethyst-eyed someone, I untie the gown and let it pool at my feet.

“Arms up,” Rita says as soon as my body is bare. She doesn’t look twice at my naked form. “Come and help, Frieda.”

I am a little shocked when all three of them dip their hands into a pot of seemingly liquid glitter and begin to spread it over my entire body. I was going to walk out of here looking like a damn disco ball, only golden instead of silver. The only skin left untouched by the glitter was my face, and yet I did not doubt that Rita had managed to blend the sparkling powder into every pore on my face. Yikes. I hoped I didn’t have a reaction to the stuff. No doubt I’d exit the tent looking like a glittery puffer fish, all red, swollen, and itchy.

“Alright,” Rita says suddenly, and the three of them step back and look me up and down with critical eyes. “Perfect. Now for the dress.”

I let my arms drop. “No panties?” I joke. But seriously, give me some fucking knickers.

Laska tosses me a small lump of fabric, which I miraculously catch, what with my sloth reflexes and all. I hold it up in front of me and wince.

“You call this underwear?” I exclaim. The golden fabric is thin and will hide literally nothing. “I’m not exactly a yeti down there, but this will not contain my pubes, ladies. And female,” I add as an afterthought. “What, do fae not have hair on their coochies?”

The question was meant to be a joke, but when I glance up, all three of them are shaking their heads; Rita and Frieda both somewhat amused.

“I may not have inherited my father’s ears, but I am so glad the fae side of limited body hair deemed me worthy,” Laska scoffs. “I honestly don’t see the appeal in it.”

“Males find pubic hair attractive in human women,” Rita explains with a shrug.

I eye the flimsy fabric a moment longer, then think: to hell with it. I bend and step into it. The instant I let the waistband go, I know I’m going to have issues.

“This thing is going to give me wedgies all fucking day,” I complain, attempting and failing to swivel my head around to get a good look at my ass. I had no doubt it looked fine as fuck, with the material hugging not even half of my ass cheeks.

“Your ass looks fucking amazing,” Laska sighs with obvious envy.

I smirk and shrug. “I’ve got a killer glutes workout I could teach you?”

Laska gapes like I have suggested we dine with the Skraeming Dhevilkin. “Workout? Me?” she snorts. “I think my fae heritage will keep me trim enough.”

I shrug. “If you say so.” Just wait until your human heritage catches up with you, I add silently to myself.

Frieda holds up another slip of golden fabric. “Now, the dress,” she says, lips curling into a half-restrained smile as if she knows what is about to come out of my mouth.

“There is not nearly enough fabric on that thing for it to be called a dress.”

There really wasn’t.

Frieda and Rita share a grin while Laska rolls her eyes.

“You humans are so prudish,” she says dramatically.

“Being modest is not prudish,” I counter, folding my arms across my chest and cocking a hip. “It is… charming. You know, letting your beauty speak for itself while pretending you don’t quite realise how beautiful you are. And perhaps that little veil of mystery only makes things more exciting when you finally undress another for the first time. There is a certain wilfulness to modesty, and reverence too. I suppose that is why you fae seem so completely unbothered by nudity. You have no respect for yourselves, let alone others.” I feel no guilt in classifying the halfling as fae, seeing as that’s how she would prefer to be categorised.

Laska’s jaw drops. “Excuse me!” She seethes, her hair suddenly standing on end as if she has been electrocuted.