This process is certainly not going to make anyone fast friends.We’ve been here for all of five minutes, and already girls are gunning for Essos like he’s the last man alive, which…I guess maybe he is. Or maybe it isn’t just the hope of being with Essos that people are deciding to stay behind for—maybe part of it is fear of the unknown.
After breakfast, we’re dismissed to get ready for the interviews. Cat and I beeline to my room and are debating whether we should change again when there’s a knock on the door.
“It’s open!” I call, stepping out of the closet to see who’s there.
Tiffany and Zara walk in, ready for the day. Tiffany changed into a power suit in dark red, but her desolate mood dampens the effect. Her heart clearly isn’t in this, and I don't blame her at all. Zara didn’t change, but she did add a dramatic necklace with a chain that flows down the smooth dark skin of her bare back.
“So, this is weird, right? Like, this isn’t just some hallucination or weird fever dream?” Tiffany asks.
“Or shared psychosis? Seems legit,” I say, sitting at my vanity. I changed into a tank top for now so I could get a better look at my shoulder bruise. It’s gotten worse, turning mottled purple and deep red. The cut on my forehead probably needed stitches, but does that matter once you’re dead?
“You should do something for your bruises. I heard Sybil can heal stuff. Ginny dislocated her shoulder, and Sybil popped it back into place and healed it. Of course, we didn’t know that it was healed until last night, but it makes sense.” Zara wanders around my room touching things. When she picks up my flowers to sniff them, I start to my feet, oddly protective of the blooms. Zara looks at me questioningly, then places the small vase back on the top of my dresser. Playing it cool, I walk past her to grab my robe off the foot of my bed so I can hang it back up. As if catching my hostile undertones, Zara moves toward the bed.
“Does it make sense, Zara?” Cat shoots back. “Because I don’t think any part of this makes any fucking sense. We’re dead.”
“But not really. Like, look at Daphne’s bruises—they have literally gotten worse since we ‘died,’ Pretty sure that’s not how death works.”Zara gestures at me before checking herself out in the vanity mirror. Her fingertips touch the edges of her bangs, adjusting them slightly.
“Actually, it’s called a perimortem bruising, and it will continue to develop,” Cat informs her in a haughty tone.
“Oh, stop it, you with theCriminal Mindstalk. I don’t think of it like we’redeaddead. Like, we’re not zombies—we just don’t exist on the same plane that we used to. We need to start thinking of it another way, because it honestly hurts my head. It’s also depressing as fuck to think that we’re dead, so enough. We’re on vacation.” Zara picks at invisible lint on her dress.
Tiffany stays quiet, and I can guess that she’s missing her boyfriend and who knows what else.
Yesterday, Cat and I had pointedly ignored discussing how we died. I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of death, of being gone. I might not have known where I wanted my life to go, but there were things I wanted to do—travel the world, get married and, if I was with the right person, maybe have a baby. Getting a cat sibling for Waffles was definitely part of the plan. As great as the dogs are, I want to crush Waffles to my chest one last time.
My head hurts at the existential crisis happening around me, and so I make the vapid choice to play with my hair, attempting to style it out of my face. Time to embrace the bruises that brought me where I am today. As I braid my hair, Cat shows Tiffany and Zara my closet, and I listen to them coo over the dresses and shoes.
“Do you think, like, Sybil got all these outfits for us?” Zara asks, holding up a dress in front of her body.
“I think magic happened.” Cat steps out of the closet with another dress on a hanger. She holds it out to me. “You need to wear this.” It’s a scoop neck, form-fitting grey dress that ends mid-thigh, with ruching on the sides.The long sleeves make it seem more modest, and the material looks smooth and comfortable. Behind her, Tiffany steps out with a pair of black knee-high boots. Zara looks at what they’ve put together out of the corner of her eye, jealousy flashing, but she buries it quickly.
“I thinkthisis magic happening,” Tiffany remarks with a broad grin.
Though I doubt they meant to, Sybil made me feel self-conscious about what I was wearing by singling me and Cat out earlier. I’m not comfortable with the idea of being held up as a paragon for attire, so I decide to at least try on this dress.
When I emerge, I ignore how Zara’s eyes cut away from me with a fake smile on her face.
“I’m guessing you two are going to stick around and go through with the process?” I ask, checking myself out in the mirror, I turn to see how my ass looks in the dress, and admittedly, it does look good.
“We’re dead, Daphne, and this is a chance to become a queen. I know I’ve always been one, but now others will finally realize all I have to offer.” Zara tosses her hair over her shoulder with an easy flip.
“As long as Zara is in, I’m in,” Tiffany confirms. She sounds bright and bubbly about it, but the excitement never reaches her eyes.
“Then I guess it’s time for us to put our most regal foot forward.”
CHAPTER6
Tiffany and Zara go down early in hopes that we’re seen in order of arrival. Cat slips back to her own room for a moment alone while I change. By the time I arrive downstairs, everyone has congregated in the living room. I smile nervously at the girls as I make eye contact. Everyone went back to their rooms to change, to try and dress as if they were going to a job interview.Two of them are wearing suits.
I spot Cat, Tiffany, and Zara sitting in a corner, and I hold back an exclamation. Zara went back to her room and managed to find a dress similar to the one I’m wearing but with a deeper scoop in the neckline and a shorter hem. Cat gives a small shake of her head in acknowledgement, but we say nothing.
Sybil sweeps into the room with a clipboard in hand and calls the first name. Despite having been dressed for the pool, both Anna and Leslie are now wearing business casual, except I can see the strings from Anna’s bikini sticking out the back of her dress. I manage to catch her eye and signal her about it, and she gives me a wink as she tucks them away. Sybil must have taken pity on them, because Anna and Leslie are the first two to go.
As the afternoon goes on, they move down the list, and I feel the same stress I did at graduation, waiting for my name to be called, waiting for my diploma, except that there is no rhyme or reason to the order. Some people spend more time with Essos than others—the longest session is just short of an hour, while other girls spend 10 minutes with him. When Cat’s name is called, we squeeze each other's hands, and she goes off.
Zara watches Cat leave, then hops into her seat. “So, this is weird, right? Like, it’s almost like speed dating, but just for him. I wonder what he’s like.” I watch her, keeping my face neutral, mentally tallying everylikeshe uses. Sometimes I think she plays into expectations to get people to lower theirs before wowing them with her intelligence. I would fall for it if I hadn’t seen her do the same thing during debates in the classes we’ve shared. “And also, what does being a queen even entail?”
“Sounds like an excellent question for him. I think a more important question is, why do you want to stay here?” I counter. Zara’s dark brown eyes search my face, as if she’s trying to read what I’m getting at.