"You have no appreciation for fashion at all. Yes, the restriction is the point. No it is not serving some secret competitive function. Do you have any understanding of the concept of lines?"

Madeleine is blind. Madeleine is falling. It's a very strange sensation; it's different from being suspended and there is no sensation of weightlessness. But without the feeling of the air fighting her there's nothing to conjure the image of plummeting toward the ground either. She is simply above the ground, a creature of gravity with no ability to fulfill her contract with it. Not quite falling, not quite flying, not quite floating. If it was like anything at all it was like being [i]held[/i], a sensation that only intensified when the ropes started pulling across her ankles. 

She sighs.

"I didn't hear you complain about my tie or my vest, or even my coat. All of those were tight enough to keep me from moving properly but that isn't an issue. At home, I have pieces I can't even bend in. Sometimes I wear shoes I can't run in, and they hurt my feet if I'm in them too long. It's fine. It completes an aesthetic. The posture is... as important as the piece itself."

In this permanent floating/falling/held state it is difficult to conjure much in the way of a strong physical response to anything. It feels oddly safe. Against the backdrop of her skin prickling and itching from neck to toe thanks to the extreme amount of gel coating her a marker barely registers at all. There's just a slightly different kind of wetness, and then the vague awareness of ink drying on her skin before it settles. She can envision the pattern, but only by focusing on every dot and following the pattern down her spine and around her legs. 

"It's the sense of formality and attention raised ears imply. With all of the clothing, it compels me to stand and sit taller than I normally do. The design is striking, the color stands out against my hair, but... it is in the end about compelling my body into the most pleasant shape possible. Sometimes that means fighting my nature. Sometimes it means leaning into it harder. Now that I have the piercings I can play with chains and charms that allow for more flexibility, but - please pay more attention to where that's going - my ears are beautiful. I think. I wanted to make them unignorable, too."

There's a strange vulnerability to being marked up like this. Especially in the grip of the levitator where she's not even privy to the sensation of having laid down on the ground. Nothing is touching anything, and all her wandering mind has to contemplate are the twin sensations of her tumbling hair/tail, and the pattern of markings crossing her skin. It's very easy to stay still, she's far too relaxed (and tired) to even squirm, but even so she can't help but think a little about whether she is being dressed up or prepared for slaughter. What was the point of all this cubegel? What was the aim of this next exercise?

"It upsets me, having to explain all this to you. You don't get how beautiful you are. Some of us have to work very hard to catch up, thank you very much. But even still, the things that I could do to [i]your[/i] body... you waste so much potential! If you'd just give yourself over to me even one time, I could, I could!"

Madeleine stammers. Her skin has fully gone over to warmth from the initial chill of the gel, but she shivers as though she were underneath a high powered fan. The sense of her impending doom bothers her so much less than the sudden, unplanned vulnerability of the truth, this weakness and longing she'd already revealed to nothing so that she wouldn't have to reveal it to its source. Her entire body flushes with color, and her empty ears flick vigorously. 

"I mean. I-- yes. Forget all that. I'm ready. Do it."