Back behind their cover, Ryan was already typing.
"Okay... time to dial it back. Let's add something super proper. Like— tea-party princess kind of proper. Lace, ribbons, parasols… all that stuff," Ryan said.
Billy looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow. "You serious? From war paint to... debutante?"
“Exactly. Let’s see if they break character. Or better yet… what happens when you smash two personalities together.”
Ryan entered:
~ Store now carries formal debutante gowns, lace gloves, parasols, and high society accessories in Jess and Macy’s sizes. Compulsion: They will feel drawn to these clothes and compelled to try them on. ~
He hit ENTER.
Back in the Store – A New Aisle Appears
Jess blinked as her war-ready gaze scanned the store… and froze.
A brand-new rack stood at the far end. Gowns of soft pastel silk and lace dangled delicately in the glowing store light. Floral embroidery, sheer gloves, tiny heeled shoes. It looked like a closet from a Victorian drama had exploded in the middle of the mall.
Jess took an unconscious step toward it. Something inside her stirred — not a roar, but a whisper. A gentle pull.
“…You see that?” she asked, nudging Macy.
Macy scoffed, her voice now permanently dipped into a gruff growl. “What, the frilly graveyard? That’s not clothing. That’s surrender stitched in satin.”
Jess hesitated. “I dunno. I mean... we’ve done everything else today. What if we just tried it?”
Macy narrowed her eyes. “A barbarian queen doesn’t wear corsets and ribbons. You wanna be some dainty little plaything, go ahead. I’ll be sharpening spears.”
Jess Steps Into a New Self
With a deep breath, Jess walked to the rack. Her barbarian outfit felt tight, itchy, aggressive. It was like her skin didn’t want to wear it anymore.
She ran her fingers over a pale lavender gown — her heart thudded differently. Slower. Lighter. She grabbed the dress and vanished into the dressing room.
As she peeled away the rough barbarian garb, something in her melted. The strength, the fury, the blood-boil… it faded.
She slid on sheer silk gloves. Clasped a satin sash. Tied ribbons in her still-wild hair, now inexplicably smooth and curled.
By the time she looked in the mirror, her stance had changed. Shoulders pulled back. Feet perfectly aligned. Her hands folded delicately over her stomach.
She blinked. “I feel... right,” she whispered, shocked at how much calmer she felt.
But even as that calm washed over her, a flicker of resistance still burned deep inside.
"This isn't me, either... is it?" she whispered.
Then the thought slipped away — drowned beneath a tidal wave of etiquette, poise, and grace.
Back Outside the Dressing Room
Macy spotted Jess stepping out, now fully transformed. Her jaw dropped.
“Jess?” Macy snorted. “You look like you’re about to faint if someone mentions dirt.”
Jess smiled faintly and curtsied. “That’s a rather crude way of speaking, Macy.”
“Oh hell no.” Macy crossed her arms. “They got to you. That fancy dress has rotted your brain. Snap out of it!”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Jess replied with a serene smile. “I feel lovely. Perhaps you’d consider trying one on? It could do wonders for your—what did you call it?—murder rage look.”
Macy took a step back like she’d been insulted. “A queen doesn’t dress for anyone’s approval. And I sure as hell ain’t putting on some puffy cake-frosting of a dress just because you did!”
Watching From Afar
Billy whispered, “Oh damn, Jess is totally flipped now.”
Ryan grinned. “She’s a debutante with barbarian muscles underneath. And Macy? Full-on warlord.”
Billy chuckled. “This is gold.”