mood: anxious // location: hallway // with: queen gemma (@Littlefeets)
song - moodboard
Phoenix might’ve spent the last week in shock from the announcement on The Report, the last days in a whirlwind of paperwork and cameras, and the last 24 hours traveling to the palace of the royal family of Illéa; that didn’t mean that any of it felt real.
Soft brushed flew over Phoenix’s face, tickling across the bridge of her nose and the apples of her cheeks, painting her up as someone worthy of marrying the king’s heir. Phoenix but her tongue- she was sure arguing would make her seem childish, not assertive, so she just asked them to go as light with the makeup as possible.
When a stylist approached Phoenix’s scar with a bottle of creamy beige liquid, Phoenix froze in her seat. “Don’t!” She squeaked, loud enough to startle a few of the girls on either side of her. “I’m sorry, I…” Phoenix shook her head. “Please don’t cover it,” she asked in a softer voice. The stylist nodded, moving on to the rest of her face.
Phoenix didn’t speak for the rest of the process, and the entire look took about half an hour. Every so often, she glance at the girls, taking in their glittering eyes, silky skin, and complex hairdos. She suddenly felt very out-of-place with the rather simple hairstyle the hairdresser had gone with. Phoenix was just glad the hairdresser hadn’t insisted on dying it- she had said that Phoenix’s hair was “far too unruly to take to any other coloring”. Plus, her hair naturally matched the Queens’, and Phoenix should “take what she could get in the looks department”. That would’ve been something I would’ve fought for.
After the makeup artist had put down all her brushes and showed Phoenix her reflection, Phoenix couldn’t do much but sit there in stunned silence. She looked… well, herself. The makeup artist had tucked away her insecurities, brought out her best features, and… well, she’d taken her request about her scar seriously. While she had touched up bits and pieces where the creases and tissue were most puckered and prominent, she’d overall transformed the ugly gash running from Phoenix’s chin to the corner of her right eye into something beautiful- the mark of a survivor, rather than a victim.
Though the look overall was natural, her stylist had made the bold choice to give her a vivid red lip. She’s turned me into a vampire, Phoenix thought, the juvenile reaction flitting through her brain as she processed that the color was similar to that of fresh blood, though it wasn’t something she was necessarily complaining about. The entire look felt so different than the last times she’d applied makeup, with her mother during playtime, with heavy blush and glittering eyeshadow that made her feel like a princess. And now I’m in the running to be one. Do I look like I’m playing the part?
“It’s gorgeous… thank you,” Phoenix murmured once she’d gotten snapped out of her trance. Her stylist nodded and smiled, giving a few parting words, before directing Phoenix to the dress rack which had been set up against one wall of the room. Up to now, she had been wearing a gauzy robe that, while comfortable, had felt much too thin, but the vast array of gowns in front of her. As she surveyed her options, Phoenix could hear snippets of conversations, girls throwing hissy fits over not getting pants, and while Phoenix didn’t necessarily like dresses, she decided she wasn’t about to go home over an outfit. Looking over the rack, Phoenix’s eyes caught on a flowy ombré dress, a milky white that faded into shades of red, orange, and black. As soon as she reached out to touch it, she knew she had to at least try it on.
As soon as she stepped out of the changing room, Phoenix couldn’t help but be amazed. Sure, she would’ve taken jeans and a comfy tee over a dress any other day, but this dress? The loose fabric didn’t scratch against her skin like some of the ballgowns had, and as she moved, it seemed as though the fire-colored fabric flickered to life, making her entire outfit look alive. Phoenix tried to remember when the last time she wore a dress was- five years ago? Ten? The outfit was so unfamiliar, though- even after the past year, she was so used to wearing worn sweaters and scraps dug out of trash bins, relying on herself because she couldn’t rely on anyone else. Phoenix might’ve been a two, but she didn’t think there was anyone more out of their element right then than her.
Phoenix didn’t have much time to admire her outfit, though, as a smartly-dressed woman and a gaggle of cameras approached her. “Hello, sweetheart,” the woman said, her voice peppy and bright. “You must be Phoenix! What a fitting dress.” Phoenix smiled and chewed nervously on the inside of her lip. The woman cleared her throat. “I’m here to just give you a short interview- all the Selected girls have one. You’re alright with that, aren’t you?”
“Um, yeah, that sounds great,” Phoenix said, giving a smile for the cameras. Here she was, being filmed, probably for the whole kingdom to see on the Report in just a few days. I wonder what everyone back in the station would be thinking? Because just a week ago, Phoenix would’ve never dreamt of this scenario- not in a million years.
One week ago…
Phoenix stood in the shower, trying to wash the sweat and ash out of her hair- though by that point, it probably wasn’t going to get much better. Her wet hair clung to her neck in copper waves as she elected to just tilt her head back, letting the hot water pour across her face and neck. Princesses, heirs, parties and ballgowns and… this is too much to think about right now. Half an hour ago, Phoenix’s name flashed across the screen during the Report, announcing her as Labrador’s Selected candidate for the Prince’s hand. Half the station had gone wild, the other had doubled over laughing, and Phoenix? She needed to just escape, get away from all of it. Now, she was in the shower, trying to wash away dirt, grime, and sickly-sweet memories tinged with blood.
At some point, Phoenix felt the water starting to run cold, and knew Viva would be pissed if there wasn’t any hot water left for her- future-lady-be-damned. Phoenix turned the knob, her sense of moderate peace flowing down the drain with what was left of the water, and dressed herself in a plain shirt and worn pants, not even bothering to towel off her hair. She walked into the commons to find Fletcher as the only one there, sharp eyes peering over his glasses at a newspaper.
“The others ran off as soon as you walked in the bathroom,” Fletcher said, reading her mind. “Probably planning some sorta celebration party.” He’d never been one for surprises.
“And you stayed?” Phoenix asked, walking over to the kitchenette and putting a pot of water on the stove.
“'Course. You need someone to put that head of yours on your shoulders.”
Phoenix chuckled. Fletcher had been fire chief since her mother had started there, and despite his eternal grumpy disposition, he truly cared about everyone that worked there. “And what do you mean by that?”
Fletcher huffed. "You’re a fighter, girl, like your mother. You’re not one of those prissy girls, or some lower-caste brutes. You got the gumption.”
Phoenix restrained herself from rolling her eyes. “What if I don’t want to be queen?”
Fletcher raised a brow, but didn’t look up from his paper. “The little girl I knew had everyone thinking she was heir apparent, but guess you’re no little girl anymore, eh?” He laughed. “But, to answer your question, you’d come back home. You could act as though nothing had ever happened. But I know your not that kind of girl.” He folded the paper and stared Phoenix in the eyes for the first time in the conversation. “But are you there to quit, or there to win?”
—-
”So, Phoenix, do you think you have any shot of winning the prince’s heart?”
The question shocked her back into the present, and Phoenix realized she’d drawn blood from her cheek. Up until now, they’d been asking her mundane questions- things about her caste, and her opinions on the makeover. What was this? “I…” I don’t like that you’re talking about him like he’s some prize. Phoenix didn’t know the prince. She didn’t even know if she’d like him, and she defiinitely didn’t think he’d like her. But ever since she was little, she had the same question- what right did they have to treat someone’s life like a prize to win?
“I don’t…” Phoenix’s throat felt like sandpaper. Her thoughts felt like they were swimming through a pool of molasses. “I think this interview is over.” Phoenix stood up and rushed out, not even taking a second to glance at the crew’s stunned expressions. What right did they have? What? But now, Phoenix wasn’t just thinking of the prince- she was thinking of memories, memories they had dug up from a decade past.
And that’s when she ran into the queen.
Phoenix had never seen the queen in real life, but she was surprised to see just how normal she was. Even then, Phoenix was scrambling, her mind going from the speed of a tortoise to light in a split second. “Your highness- I’m so sorry, I…” Phoenix attempted at a curtsy, but the heels made it nearly impossible, so she elected to just bowing her head, flustered.
