Flames left behind

7{The dance}

It turns out my concerns were unfounded. Hanna has a knack for dressing up and takes care of everyone. It's a mixed bag, partly a blessing and partly a nightmare. I loathe the idea of getting all dressed up unless it's to impress someone. And frankly, no one here merits that effort. Except maybe the mystery man, but he can wait. There's something about him that's oddly intriguing. Distinctive. And a part of me is hungry for it.

"Alright Amber," Hanna started, calling me by the nickname that took her a fat hour to think of. I'm still not putting it past her, and now she's got the whole Propel calling me Amber. I think she's just doing it because she knows it annoys me. My name is vampire tradition, and she ruined it. She's a lovely person, just doesn't take in other people's feelings very often. One day I will pound it into her thick head. Among other things, but we'll start with that.

We aren't even close friends, but I have a feeling that she has the same feeling that we both have a feeling that we could both be good friends. Did that confuse you? Good, because this whole friendship does too. Mission achieved.

"When I say open, you look in the mirror and tell me exactly how you feel. Be honest or I will shamelessly walk all over you in my high heeled boots." I cocked an eyebrow but squealed as I felt a tug and let out a breath as she adjusted my corset.

"Open."

I waited a few seconds for dramatic effect, and then I opened my eyes. And then proceeded to face plant into my mirror. Hanna had to forcibly pull me off the mirror, and she flitted her hands around my face to make sure I messed nothing up.

She reminded me of an anxious mother. Not that I'd know of that, but still. Same vibes. I mentally cringed at thinking that of her but can't take back what I already thought.

"Hey! Don't ruin all my hard work! Is it really that bad? I think you look hot. Like, if I was into the opposite sex, and if I wasn't dating Roman, I'd totally be hitting on you."

I looked up at her, a crease in my brow. "Sorry, you wouldn't be my type even if I was gay." Her jaw fell, and then she tilted her head back, and laughed. A normal laugh. Not as angelic as Teresa's, not even close, but to each their own, I guess. It's not something I'd ask her to do again, but I would enjoy listening to it. A pretty face always comes with perks. Do I have a pretty laugh? Every time I hear myself, I hear a drowning pig. Uh huh, to each their own for sure.

"That's alright. But it still doesn't change the fact I'd still try to hit on you. Which means others would try to hit on you because their lesser than I am, and I'm picky. Amber, you're going to be pulling all the genders tonight, but I'll be there to make sure no weirdo lures you into the powder room."

"Powder room?"

She gave me a puzzled look. "Bathroom, I suppose you call it? The powder room seems more, appropriate. I mean, we don't even have a bath in the downstairs powder room. Besides, it makes the guys feel all weird when you say it in front of them." She winked, and I couldn't help but laugh.

She sighed. "What a pretty laugh. I could listen to that all day. I wish I had your laugh."

I grinned shyly, and watched as my face flushed red. So maybe I didn't sound like drowning pigs, or a cat stuck in a pipe. Thats good.

Gazing back at myself in the mirror, I was taken aback by my own reflection. I was more than just stunning; I was breathtakingly beautiful to the point of disbelief. Perhaps it's the advantage of inheriting traits from a faerie mother and a warlock father, not to mention the vampire blood flowing through my veins, enhancing my allure. Adorned in a sleek, strapless, slim-fitting baby blue dress that clung to my hips and featured a slit up the side, I felt almost regal. Gold might have been a more striking choice, yet the dance's theme dictated blue. Freckles sprinkled my pale shoulders, and gold flakes nestled in my red hair. My makeup was minimal, just a touch of blush and gold highlight to catch the light, with a modest amount of mascara to accentuate my lashes. My lips were slightly parted, and my gray eyes stared back at me. They were the sole aspect of my appearance I despised, my greatest insecurity. Gray eyes might be desirable to some; on Teresa, they sparkled with wonder and hope, but to me, they resembled nothing more than murky dishwater.