Greta looks you up and down, checking you out. Or maybe your outfit. Or maybe both as her hands lay on your shoulders, appraising your look. "Well," she pronounces, "I think you're ready for tonight's romp in the lodge." She produces a ticket and holds it out to you. "The house band is back in action, and I know some lucky person is going to need some company in all this cold and snow. Who knows? It might be you." Her smile grows wider, but her jade eyes are softly predatory, and in that awkward moment she takes a long, slow breath, letting it out slowly, letting you see her curves subtly move and settle, letting you smell her drifting scent, wild and eager...
You snap back to your senses and take the ticket gently and with a nervous swallow and nod. "So it's free?"
"It is now," Greta answers toothily. "There's a basement club connected to the lodge. A little rave spot through an underground tunnel. Very cozy, very dark, very warm. We call it The Den."
You blink, wanting to ask her some questions about things, about the sudden growth that has settled new curve into your clothes, new length into your limbs... and then Greta interrupts your thoughts. "Why don't you enjoy your new look?" she asks, seemingly innocently.
Wandering to the mirror, reaching to touch the reflection. Your long oval nails tick softly against the silvered glass, your hair a lush wreath around you that splays across the fur collar of the jacket. You look... dangerous. Rakish. Your eyes are a shade lighter than you remember, the cobalt of them taking on an almost florescent hue, clashing sharply with the dark lashes that surround them and the richness of your lips. Your purse and test them. Would anyone recognize you back home? Have you transformed so far that this new you would shock the people who knew you before? Your eyes blink slowly, and in a good way, the lashes scissoring silently. Why not enjoy your new look?
You turn and decide that questions aren't as important as the answers, and the answers right now are inside the lodge. All of the clues of this mystery so far seem to point there. "What time does the show start?"
"Honey," Greta says, her eyes gleaming above her smile, "it already has."
You nod sharply and stride your way out, the white ski pants you bought accentuating the new curves there that you've grown overnight. To Hell with the mincing walk that keeps the bounce in your step in check. You feel strong, and as the doors slide open into the brisk air, you breathe it all in, the pine-people-fresh snow smell of this place. It's yours somehow. You sashay off toward the lodge.
Jake lifts his head from the front cowling of the snowmobile with an oil splotched wrench in his hand... and freezes in place, eyes sliding from left to right as you pass, the only thing on him that moves. You toss your hair once to brush off his presence.
Jeff turns the corner of the valet's service booth, and he too locks up, leaning back at your approach, even though you're a good thirty feet away. His mouth falls half open as his eyes blink rapidly. You pass right by him too on your way.
Two guys are unloading their snow covered hatchback. One of them, an eighteen year old kid dressed in purple and gold Vikings garb whose ruddy face doesn't obscure his freckles, drops the box he's holding, both his cinnamon eyebrows arching upward, ignoring the crunch that the contents make. His frosty breath escapes his mouth as if a fire just went out. His buddy, a lean looking twenty, darkly clad in goggles and a thick peacoat, shoots an annoyed glare at him and then the box. "What the f..." Then he too looks up, staring as you pass. "Duuuude," is all he can say.
The corner of your mouth twitches upward. You've never been a stunner before. This is new. Your stride opens a little more, the click of your heels on smooth, snow dusted concrete a clicking drumbeat to the song in your head, your newly flared hips swaying around each other in stark white. No one can stop you. No one can match you. You feel more alive than you've ever been.
Your clicking pace brings you to the front of the lodge, and you land both fists on your hips, your arms akimbo, long legs planted in a tall A. You smirk at the world.
Time to get some answers.