She slipped easily from the persona of the popular starlet she was, donning the flesh of the woman she should have been. It was as simple as removing a mask. All of her complex, confusing emotions and traits spilling out from her heart. She sat upon the padded silk stool, gazing at the reflection that stared back at her. Painted and sculpted, her brilliant red hair piled atop of her crown in soft mounds held with pearl topped pins. Who was she really? She pressed her hand against the silver mirror, watching as her red lacquered nails grew sharper, longer. Siren? Woman? Showgirl? Or Am I all of these?
The cat creature yowled in frustration, tying the knot tighter on his
robs. He did not trust himself with her sleeping so close. She was so
serene, so beautiful. His sweet little seamstress. He yowled again, his
ears pressing flat against the downy gray hair that topped his skull.
What had happened? When had she stopped being his mistress? When had he
stopped seeing her as a stupid human? He bit his lip, a sharp fang
pricking the skin and causing blood to trickle down his chin. He was
supposed to be the tormentor, not she.