Cliché

chapter 29. grimpeur rose boutique

I've found that the one absolute requirement before any kind of dance, or homecoming, or prom, or ball in a work is the dress shopping. As shallow as you readers are, it fulfills your fantasies of throwing around money on luxury wear without having to worry about the price tag because of a filthy rich love interest. But it's also for the benefit of the author, adding that generic hint of humor because of all the ridiculous dresses the main character cycles through, only for the last dress to be so breathtakingly, heart-stoppingly gorgeous that the love interest suddenly becomes flustered.

But here I am, inside a quaint boutique downtown, with the sweet supposed-to-be-antagonist and my best friend, Brie, for none of the reasons stated above. Instead, we're rushing the shopping scene, and therefore the preparation for homecoming, so the next plot point comes as soon as possible and we don't all die. And maybe, just maybe, we're enjoying our lives as teenagers who like to shop despite the possibility of our world crumbling.

"I don't know what to wear," I groan, brushing my hand over a selection of puffy dresses hanging from the rack in front of me.
All beautiful, but not my style. This place, Grimpeur Rose Boutique, is Brielle Valentine heaven— all blush pinks, lilac purples, and muted yellows, with fabrics of lace, tulle, or soft satin. I sigh exasperatedly at the pile of gowns in Brie's arms, so tall I can barely see the top of her brunette tresses over it.

Her head peeks over the side. "What do you mean?"

"What if I can't find a dress I want in time so I have to resort to wearing what the author chooses for me?" My mind flashes back to that atrocious outfit my Best Friend character chose for me, and a shudder runs up my spine. "She's probably going to make me wear neon."

"Who knows? Maybe you'll like whatever she has for you."

A bubbling laugh bursts from my lips. "Not a chance."

She shrugs. "We can go to another store after this. I'm going to try these on first." She gestures with her chin to her giant dress heap.

I nod, following her into the changing room stationed in the back of the boutique. It sounds shallow, but even if this homecoming is only for resetting the plot, I still want to dress in my finest and have fun with my friends. Not only to spite the author, but for myself. It's a glimpse into a normal life taken away by both Kian and my author.

I don't know who I blame more. My author isn't responsible for any disappearances— that was all Kian— but without his presence to begin with, neither my family nor any of my friends would be aware. They would all be here, acting out the story, but mindless. Not dead, not living. And I would be all alone in this world.

Maybe deep down, I resent my author for writing me into existence. For concocting something that, no matter what I do, will always end in pain.

Brie pulls the ivory curtain back.

Dangling from one of the hooks on the wall is a gown of light blue, scattered with clouds like a lazy summer's afternoon. The fabric is light, airy, as if it would be blown away had the smallest of breezes swept into the boutique. It reflects in the three full body mirrors mounted upon the room's walls, like we've stepped into a box of pure sky.

Brie's eyes connect with the mirror in front of us, a small smile playing on her lips. "There's your dress."

I bristle. It's as if the author knows— no, of course she knows; she's omniscient in this world, isn't she?

"What's wrong?" Brie asks cautiously, her cheeriness faltering.

I take a shaky breath, whether from grief or anger, I can't tell. It's all swirling in my chest at once, punctuated by the painful thumping of my heart. "The color."