Out of fear, the staff finished their final touches, keeping their hands strictly to the fabrics and brushes, avoiding even the brush of a fingertip against bare skin.
When they finally stepped back, parting like a curtain, Roxy and Nikki were left staring at their reflections in the massive, floor-to-ceiling mirror.
Roxy forgot how to breathe.
The woman staring back at her didn't belong in Sector 4. She didn't scrounge for battery packs or fight off smugglers in alleyways. She was absolutely beautiful. The designer had chosen a deep crimson gown for her.
It possessed a high, daring slit up the thigh and a structured, asymmetrical bodice that made her look like royalty with a vendetta. Her wild hair had been tamed into a sleek, elegant cascade, and her glasses had been replaced with subtle, high-tech ocular contacts that made her dark eyes pop.
Roxy would never believe she was the one if she wasn't looking at herself through the mirror.
