Celeste's POV
*****
7:00pm. Female Dormitory.
"For the last time, Cel... That fit is fire." Willow's cheerleading voice pulled me out of the fog clouding my mind. I blinked, gaze trailing my reflection on the full-body mirror again.
I wore a form-fitting, velvet red gown, sleeveless and strapped to my shoulders by two strings, which both felt like they would cut in if I sneezed.
The gown was matched with crimson stilettos and a ruby necklace my mother gave me for my eighteenth—I'm not the only one who sees where this is going right?
Yup. Red. Red. Fucking red.
Heading to a memorial as a fucking clot drop has to be a bad omen in some culture somewhere.
But like my dearest Willow kept saying—
"I'm telling you..." Her hand clamped my shoulder from behind, forcing me to turn around.
Unlike my fashion nightmare, she wore something simple. A knee-high black skirt and a leopard fur coat over a sleeveless blouse.
