Winged

Chapter Twelve

Annabelle

A ball.

A bloody, flippin' ball.

The princess had orchestrated an entire ball in my honour, and for the first time in my life, I'd be able to go to one.

She ensured me that my wings wouldn't be a problem, yet she still wanted my identity secret. I don't know what magic she was going to work on me to make me look like a lady, but it better work.

Because there was no way in hell I was missing the chance to go to a ball.

Good thing it seemed we have the same mindset.

Quina holds up an itty-bitty strapless top with laces and holes, and I must look shocked, because she laughs.

"What in all the world is that?" I ask, looking it up and down. I was not wearing such a scandalous item to a gods-damned ball for-

"Calm down Annabelle. It's just a corset."

I look at her quizzical, and she rolls her eyes at me before lifting her top to reveal her abdomen. Except instead of bare skin, I see a garment almost identical to the one in her hands, pinching in her waist.

Oh.

I slide it on, feeling the still strange sensation of fabric against my bare arm, the hair and grime waxed and scrubbed away. I had showered before, of course, but never in such warm water, a seemingly endless supply, dripping from the Tupperware above my head. Neither had I sat in a basin so full, nearly reaching my shoulders.

She moves her hand in a simple gesture telling me to spin around, and once I do, she latches onto the laces with her hands and pulls with all her might. surprised, I squeal, but she is unnamed, just quietly apologizing and continuing to break my ribs.

Of course, I was mainly just skin and bone, but she still managed to squash my entire stomach to its limit, and the simple effort of breathing was absolutely impeccable.

How the ladies of the royal court put up with these torture devices, I don't know. But I sure don't want to.

"take it off. God, take it off." I tell her, the panicking thoughts of never being able to escape this cage of fabric and ribbon creeping up my neck like spindly fingers.

Lace and constricting, pulsating corsets, devoting their way up my body, consuming me, devoting me.

I hate it. I hate it, I hate it.

Stop.

Without waiting for Quina to untie it, I grip the top with my fingers and push it downwards, I try to pry it off my body.

It doesn't budge- she's done it up too tight.

I sense her move to unlace it, but I don't stop in my mad rush to get it off.

It seems to cling to me, like a second skin. It clamps down, squishing me like a vice. It wants to break my bones, it wants to consume me. I can't get it off, it won't move. It just won't-

It isn't there.

I can breathe.

Gone is the corset, gone are the ribbons.

All that there is left are scraps of fabric, lying in tatters on the floor.

And small pieces, punctured and still stuck to the claws where my hands were. Fur, instead of skin.

I don't think I'm a winged anyone.

I think I'm a beast.

Sabrina