The Work of a Legacy

Chapter Twenty-Five

Dear Stelara,
I know you're busy with the show and all, but I just thought we should update you on our situation... we reached out to George. A lot has changed. See you when you get here!
Love You Lots,
Rozabela

We're woken up with news of a rose ceremony in the afternoon. Groggily, I get up and get dressed (today's dress has pockets!), careful not to bump into Anna.

"I'm not a porcelain doll, you know."

"What?"

"You don't have to be so careful around me. I'm fine now."

"You don't look fine," I comment, glancing at her birds nest of hair and the dark bags under her eyes.

"Wow, thanks a bunch, Stella."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"It's fine. I know I look like trash." She continues violently raking the brush through her hair.

"Honey. You're going to be bald if you continue at this rate. Here, let me help." I walk over and take the hairbrush out of her hands.

"Thanks. Be careful, I've grown quite fond of my hair."

"I'll at least do a better job than you were," I hum.

"Yeah, we'll see- ow!- about that."

"Sorry!"

Ten minutes later, the majority of the knots are out.

"It'll have to do," I shrug.

"Thank you," she replies, patting down her hair in the mirror.

"Ladies! Five minutes!"

"Ughh," Anna groans. "I'm so tired."

"Me too," I agree, opening the door for her. "But we only have about two weeks and a half left."

Locking eyes with Deja, my spine involuntarily stiffens.

"Hey, Anna," she waves as she makes her way over to us.

No. No. Go away. Leave her be.

My stomach knots as I helplessly watch her trail her fingertips down Anna's arm. "How are you holding up?"

The moment passes by too quickly, but I notice it nonetheless. Anna's eyes flicker to mine, concern and fear pooling in them. A millisecond later, she's caught up in the emotional trap that is Deja Blaire.

"I'm doing alright," she replies dreamily. "How are you?"

Sighing, I trail aimlessly around the room until I find myself at the food table.

"Slice of cake?" Carmen offers.

"Uh, sure."

"Cool." She looks around. "I don't have a cutting knife."

I sigh. "I'll go get one from the kitchen."

All we have are plastic knifes, but they end up being surprisingly sharp.

"Alright, ladies, line up!" Hank calls. I set down the cake and pocket the fork and knife, for later cake eating.

I really like cake.