My eyelids shot open when sunlight crept in from the skylight of my bedroom and performed the Flamenco on my face. Like a beast, I groaned at the rude interruption.
The first thought that entered my mind was that I had thirty days left to lose my virginity.
The second was that I had the same amount of days to help plan the biggest event in the magical underground's social calendar.
I pulled the sheets away from my body in anguish.
My first plan of action? Hop into the bathroom for a cold shower.
Because last night, I dreamt of Him again, and although the cold shower felt like a barrage of icicles attacking my skin, they did little to quell my fiery insides.
Whoever he was (and if he even existed), he had the ability of making my toes curl with just one touch.
Truth was, I needed to (actually) get laid. And soon.
After getting out of the shower, I assumed my usual morning routine with the aid of a little magic. As soon as I plonked down in front of the vanity, the hairdryer, curling iron and makeup tools came to life. They levitated around in the air with grace, doing my bidding as I patiently waited.
In a span of fifteen minutes, I was dolled up and ready to conquer the day.
Fiery, auburn locks cascaded down my back in glossy curls and the makeup brought some colour to my otherwise pale visage.
"Excellent job, guys," I uttered in gratitude after inspecting my reflection, and the objects returned to their rightful places on the vanity table.
Following that, I reached for the dark brown contacts on the shelf beside me and put them on, disguising my garishly violet irises.
That way, the mortals wouldn't get too creeped out.
Rummaging around my wardrobe for the perfect outfit, I eventually settled on a casual two-piece. The top was a fitted, cropped tank with a square neckline that showed off my midriff, and the bottom was a high-waisted vintage A-line skirt that cut off at the knees.
Both pieces were sage green in colour, playing off my auburn hair perfectly.
Finally, the favourite part of my morning routine began.
I made my way to a golden door located next to my bedroom. Upon entry, an automatic sensor at the door triggered the ceiling lights to turn on, gently illuminating the insurmountable number of shoes in varying styles and colours, each of them neatly arranged in alphabetical order atop pristine white shelves.
Just like yesterday and the days before it, I blissfully sighed at the sight.
My babies.
I had a sickness, that much was true. When Lucy initially remarked about how ridiculous my shoe obsession was, I was in denial, but eventually I couldn't help but to face the truth.
And truth was, my shoe closet was sizeably larger than my own bedroom. Thanks to magic, I had first dibs on every upcoming designer shoe collection in the World. At the top of their waiting lists, they'd find one name time and time again.
Not linked to royalty.
Not a wife of a Middle Eastern oil magnate.
Not even a Kardashian.
They'd find a name belonging to an unimposing fashion stylist from New York:
Lena Winters — my cover name in the regular world.
YOU ARE READING
BEWITCHED & BOTHERED
Paranormal☆ 2022 WATTYS SHORTLIST ☆ Leonora 'Lena' Winterhaven is a witch on a dry spell. Somehow, she is the only one left in her coven (and possibly all of New York!) to still have her virtue intact at the age of twenty-nine. This would be fine and dandy, i...
