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CHAPTER ONE All-American Girl
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October 1984.
LET IT BE known that Rhiannon Liu could handleit. She might even call herself the queen of handling it at this point because ever since the incident last year, she had convinced herself that she was doing just fine, as fine as she could be for a girl who shouldn't be alive — and that there couldn't possibly be anything worse that could happen to her than what had already happened. Except maybe, committing a heinous fashion crime and getting publicly shunned for it. Though the probability was highly unlikely with her meticulously-curated, vintage-bearing wardrobe. But still, losing somebody close to her? Facing a knife-wielding killer? Dancing with death? Been there, done that. Maybe these reassurances were simply lies she told herself, she couldn't help it, but it didn't do her any good to sit around and sulk anyway. That was why sometimes she had to remind herself to look on the bright side.
Especially this morning, when her makeup came out perfect and her hair didn't take the ridiculous amount of time to style it normally does. Thank god, she thought, because some days it felt like taming her hair was fighting a losing battle.
Today she'd wear a headband, which pushed back the milk-colored streaks at the front of her head that spread from her roots down to her tips like vines blooming along rock walls. This was among the list of things that happened after the incident. Things that couldn't be explained but that made her different. Take, for example, the black eyes or the scar across her throat.
"Morning, Nyx," Rhiannon greeted her cat, who purred as she ran her fingers through his silky black fur. "It'll be a good day today, don't you think?"
