[color=FFF2D8][center][img]https://i.imgur.com/WHxJd1p.png[/img][/center]
[center][h1][color=7DB9B6]Elodie Ashbourne[/color][/h1][/center]
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[center][color=D9A0B0][b]Location:[/b][/color] Her apartment above [I]Honey & Hemlock[/I]• [color=D9A0B0][b]Time:[/b][/color] Dusk[/center]
[center][color=D9A0B0][b]Interactions:[/b][/color] [@FunnyGuy] Sean • [color=D9A0B0][b]Mentions:[/b][/color] N/A[/center]
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Elodie Ashbourne was in distress.

Serious, wardrobe-induced, oh-god-my-life-is-over distress.

The floor of her bedroom was a battlefield of discarded outfits—ribbons, tights, dresses, and one particularly sparkly top that had been immediately vetoed for making her look like “a haunted cupcake.” Her closet door hung open like it too was appalled at her indecision, and her bed bore witness to her suffering, piled high with skirts that were either too “please-like-me” or not enough “I-belong-here.” Because the Velvet Bite wasn’t just a club. It was [I]the club[/I]...or lounge, technically. A glimmering den of teeth and temptation, glamour-drenched and velvet-lined, where vampires and fae and lycans mingled like gods and devils, and—

[color=D9A0B0]“Where little mortals like me get eaten alive,”[/color] she mumbled under her breath, then stopped.

That wasn’t her anymore.

The thought hit like ice down her spine. She wasn’t mortal. Not really. Not anymore. The label didn’t fit, no matter how much she still wanted it to. And no matter how she smiled or how sweetly she offered cupcakes and compliments, they knew it too.

Every interaction she’d had with the supernatural since her turning had ended the same, with them staring at her a beat too long. Eyes narrowing. Nostrils flaring like they were trying to place a scent that didn’t belong. A vampire at the halfway house once told her she gave him “the same feeling as static before a lightning strike.” A fae woman had sniffed and called her “off-tune.” Even a lycan courier delivering blood packs to the café flinched when she brushed his hand by accident. She tried to laugh it off, but their eyes always said the same thing.

[I]There’s something wrong with you.[/I]

Her chest tightened, and she turned away from the mirror.

Focus.

She scanned the mess again and spotted it–folded neatly on her dresser, like it had been waiting.

A soft black [url=https://i.imgur.com/Oxf1TIn.png]milkmaid dress[/url], with puffed sleeves, velvet ribbon corset lacing, and a flared, mid-thigh skirt that swished just right when she twirled. It was cottagecore-meets-gothic-debutante. Sweet, with a whisper of danger. She pulled it on, slid into sheer black thigh-high tights, and picked out a pair of delicate ankle boots with silver buckles. Her hair, freshly curled, was half-pinned with matching velvet bows, and her lips wore a shy stain of rose-red gloss. A dainty vial necklace nestled at her throat, filled with a small bit of synthetic blood laced with cinnamon. Just in case.

She gave her reflection a final once-over. The girl staring back looked almost… confident.

Almost.

With a nervous exhale, she picked up her tiny bat-shaped purse and stepped out of the room. Sean was seated by the window, stoic as ever–coffee in hand, eyes scanning the street like the city owed him answers.

Elodie cleared her throat gently.

And then she twirled.

Just one spin–flared skirt and curls catching the light–before she slowed, cheeks flushed pink as she clasped her hands in front of her. [color=D9A0B0]“So?”[/color] she asked, eyes flicking up to him beneath her lashes. [color=D9A0B0]“How do I look?”[/color]

She tried to keep it light, like it didn’t matter. Like she wasn’t desperate to feel like something other than a broken spell in a girl-shaped body.

But then she hesitated, biting her lip softly before adding, [color=D9A0B0]“Be honest. Do I look like someone who belongs in a place like the Velvet Bite… or like someone pretending she’s not in over her head?”[/color]

There was a wobbly smile at the corner of her mouth, the kind that dared him to lie…but begged him not to. She fiddled with a lock of her hair before tucking it behind her ear and added, quieter, [color=D9A0B0]“I don’t want them to see [I]that[/I] girl. The scared one. Just for one night, I want to be someone who fits.”[/color]

Her voice trailed off and she gave a little shrug, as if to wave it away, but her eyes stayed fixed on him. Searching. Waiting. Hoping.[/color]