The Famoux

Chapter 8

emeray

It took all of a week for the Darkening to draw to a finish. Norax has had me stay in a free room at the Reformation Center, where I've been taught and tested by Zoya on my new job requirements. I have quite the plethora of paths to take, she told me, and it all depends on what I wish to do with my Famoux status. If I fancy theatrics, they'll pull me onto a set and make me an actress. If I've a taste for music, they'll begin recording my album as soon as the power comes back. And if I possess no talent for either, they'll snap a few pictures and make me a model. This isn't even the half of it, either. I can choose to become a full-time public speaker for charities, or join a sports team, or start my own talk show, or do absolutely nothing at all. The seemingly infinite possibilities, coming all at once to me, were utterly overwhelming.

"This is all, essentially, your choice," Zoya had told me. "It's all a matter of which road you see yourself venturing down. Any ideas?"

We were sitting on the couches in the lobby, a wreath of black candles in the shape of the Famoux sign resting face up on the coffee table to provide illumination. Zoya held her clipboard in her hands, a thick packet braced by its metal clippers. Beside me was Norax, who never stopped holding my hand and giving me reassurance the whole way through.

I was immensely grateful she cared so much about me; in any of the broadcasts I got to watch, she always looked quite pragmatic and a bit too severe. I never once thought that behind it all, she would be so kind and maternalistic to me. Yet again, I never once thought I'd meet her, either.

"I--I don't really know what I can do," I admitted. "I've never really gotten any chance to, well, do anything."

"Understandable." The sound of pen scribbling on paper echoed in the open area. "I trust your home environment was not too welcoming of you pursuing any kind of personal, recreational activities?"

"Basically." Definitely.

"I think we'll just have to put you down for model at the moment, until you can figure out if there's anything else you'd like to do," said Zoya. Her lips tilted into a smirk. "At least we can be positive you'll look flawless in whatever photo you're in."

My eyes shifted to the floor, a smile creeping up on my own face. Compliments. I couldn't get over them.

"I hope you're right about that," I said bashfully.

"Why, of course I'm right! Norax, tell Emeray she's ruddy mad if she believes she wouldn't look good even in the most unprepared of photos."

"If she's so unsure, we should prove it to her," Norax decided. "Let's prove it, right now, right here."

Zoya's eyes widened. "Oh, no, we can't possibly. We've no power, remember? None of the devices would be able to load any photos onto the system. It'd be like we took no pictures at all."

"I don't want you to turn the power in the glass house off again," I said. "I don't like the idea of making everybody scared about that kind of stuff because of me."

"Power? Dear, that's no matter," Norax said. "We don't need any power to take a couple photos. Em, dear, stand with me."

I expected to hobble to my feet, but I rose with a fluidity I've never felt before, causing me to pause and gape with wonder at my new body. Every muscle in my body felt like it'd been dipped in gold, if dipping something in gold made every piece of it more smooth and refined and lovely.

The best part is that this was mine. I ran my hand along my arm, and that was my skin, not a doll's. I blinked, and I felt my eyelashes against my brows, not some extensions of another's. I stood, and felt my limbs support me. I was nothing new--I was myself, just with the new hair and the new name. If that made me new, and no longer Emilee Parvenu, then the rules of the world must read like this: Only the exterior matters; lose weight, change your hair, or adopt a new label for yourself, and you are no longer the organs and fibers and emotions ticking just beneath your skin. You must be something new if the only thing you have changed is what's outside.