❝ YOU KISS EVERYONE ON THIS LIST,
AND I RESIGN FROM THE TEAM. ❞
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
༊*·˚ 💌 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭
in which one adolescent bet
results in bianca larsson, not
only kissing twenty-one of her
classmates, but realising...
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chapter twenty-nine, A CINDERELLA IN CONVERSE
✧ ━━━ · ✦ · ━━━ ✧
"FUCK!"
Bianca Larsson was pacing her Gryffindor dorm, her hand pressed up against her temple, her gasps for air becoming more and more desperate with each passing step.
Christmas eve. A joyous time. And yet the stress levels rising from the girl's face, extinguished any of the "night before" fuzzy feelings. Because Bianca had lost a shoe.
"How come I can find one, but not the other?" she shouted, her voice becoming exceedingly scary with her ever-increasing rage, as she stopped dead-still in front of Katie and Angelina, both of which were ready and dressed, stood up against two posts of Bianca's bed.
Bianca didn't seem that bothered or impacted by the ball's initial announcement, nor was she like Katie and struggled to contain her excitement, and yet, at the loss of a single high-heeled, silver shoe (something she paid serious money for), Bianca had lost it and the concern had struck.
"It has to be in here somewhere," Angelina reassured, as she pushed off of the post and began searching the room, getting onto her knees to glance under the beds, hiking up her dress with hopes not to collect dust on the fabric.
"It's not like it grew a pair of legs and walked off?" Katie joked, with a semi-comforting smile, that seemingly had no effect on Bianca's anxiety status. Katie too stood up straight, walking towards the wardrobe, picking up fallen clothes, and opening drawers.
"Are you sure you've looked everywhere?" Angelina asked, brushing her hands against her dress to remove any possibility that the dust could have ruined her dress.
"Pretty certain," Bianca said, trying not to sound as tipped off as she currently felt.
"And where did you see it last?" Katie asked, overturning boxes and sheets, with no luck in finding the missing shoe.
"The wardrobe. I kept them in the box they came in," Bianca's voice became nervier, as she glanced at the small, iron clock, resting on her bedside table. The more she stared at it, the more it seemed to speed up; the ticks getting louder and more intimidating. "Fuck. It's already started."
"If it's time you're stressed about, then I wouldn't worry," Angelina started, "Fashionably late is always the best. Besides, would you want to have been there when the doors open, before the music started and guests arrived? No. That would have been dull."
"Still," Bianca sighed. She fled back to the wardrobe, upturning more boxes, scavenging through her trunk, and throwing hangers holding clothes to the side. Bianca never would have expected to have become this riled up by the ball.
