after they met her

fourtyone

i v a n a

After much deliberation and anxious back-and-forth, I finally decided on the silver gown.

There was something about it that drew me in—the way it shimmered in the light, the way it made me feel like I was stepping into a different world.

It was glamorous, almost otherworldly, and it felt right for the occasion.

The others were also pretty, but they didn't have the same magic as the silver gown.

I almost chose the red dress, but tonight, I didn't want to be bold—I wanted to feel elegant, even if just for one night.

Once the decision was made, the next steps were almost mechanical. I hung the dress carefully on the back of my door, smoothing out the fabric with my hands and feeling a flutter of nerves in my stomach.

Tonight wasn't just any night; it was a night where all eyes would be on me, where I would be surrounded by the most powerful people in the mafia world.

The thought alone made my heart race.

Would they judge me? Would they make fun of me? I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts away. There was no time for self-doubt.

I went to my desk, where I had already lined up all the makeup products I needed for tonight. There was my foundation, powders, eyeshadows in every shade imaginable, and lipsticks that ranged from subtle nudes to daring reds.

It was overwhelming, but I wasn't sure what goes best with silver.

Opening my laptop, I searched for a YouTube tutorial that seemed approachable. "Simple Glam Makeup Look for Beginners," the title read.

Perfect.

I clicked play. A cheerful, confident beauty guru appeared on the screen, smiling brightly.

"Hi, everyone! Today, I'm going to show you a super easy glam look that's perfect for any special occasion. Let's get started!"

I followed along, carefully applying foundation as she instructed. As I blended it into my skin, I caught my reflection in the mirror.

My face seemed paler than usual, almost ghostly against the bright lights in my room. Was this how I was supposed to look? I sighed, continuing with the tutorial, trying not to focus too much on my insecurities.

Next came the eyeshadow. I chose a soft, shimmery silver that complemented my dress, sweeping it across my lids as the beauty guru demonstrated.

Yet my hands weren't as steady as hers, and my eyes weren't as large or as perfectly shaped. I tried to ignore the small voice in my head that told me I wasn't good enough, that I would never be able to pull off this look.

"Now, for the eyeliner," the guru chirped. "Don't worry if it's not perfect; practice makes perfect!"

I carefully lined my eyes, trying to keep the line smooth. It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. I followed with mascara, sweeping it onto my lashes and hoping it would make my eyes pop like hers did.

I remembered being fourteen, standing in front of a small, cracked mirror in the cramped bathroom of the orphanage.

My makeup kit was a pathetic assortment of half-used products I had scavenged over the years. The mascara was the worst.

It had dried out long ago, but I refused to throw it away. I didn't have the luxury of replacing it, so I did what I could—I unscrewed the cap and added a few drops of water, shaking it in the hope that it would somehow come back to life.