Sequel: Twisted Returns ›
Status: Complete - 71,220 words
Shattering Crystals
that will be the end of you
"Can't believe this," Dean grumbles, crossing his arms and slumping in his seat.
"Shh," Lorraine says, "this is a fashion show. If you don't like it, why did you come?"
"Because you told me to."
"Shush."
"It's not that this is a fashion show, anyways," Dean explains. "It's just that the money we wasted to get these seats could have been used for something better."
"Yeah, yeah. We know how frugal you are," Lorraine replies, craning her next to get a better view of the models.
She's right about Dean. Even when we were living at Lynda's, he never wanted to spend money. Even though we had all the money we could have wanted or needed. I would always just find him reading a book, or doing something low cost. He wouldn't even buy new clothes - until we convinced him that they were unwearable. Lorraine had to pick out things for him.
"It's not a bad thing to be," Dean says. "Especially in our situation."
"Chelsea!" I suddenly blurt out as I watch the line of models. Somewhere along the line, my subconscious thoughts match the name to the face - and yes, Chelsea McPhee is here. It doesn't surprise me that I recognized her. I ruined her life, after all.
"You're right!" Lorraine exclaims, jumping up. Angry yells come from behind us and she quickly sits down again. "She looks good."
"How could she not?" I say. "She's Chelsea McPhee."
"Yeah, but after the incident..."
I cringe. "Don't talk about it."
Luckily for me, Lorraine and Dean don't like to speak of it either. We just watch the gorgeous nineteen-year-old (twelve-year-old?) walk up and down the runway.
But we can see her talking small, hesitant steps in her high heels. Not the confident strides she used to take. It's as if she has to learn how to walk all over again. In heels, at least.
With the sight of this familiar face, I find myself wishing to see another - Leilani. But I know that this is a pointless wish; Leilani never wanted to make it big, and would have had no reason to go to Russia.
"I see Katalina!" Lorraine says. A tall girl with white-blonde hair (not unlike Lynda's) and striking features starts to walk the runway. Her bright smile dazzles everyone and leaves them stunned.
"She looks nice," Dean murmurs, "Easy to talk to."
"Looks aren't everything," Lorraine says. Maybe she's right, but looks sure as hell do matter a lot. Especially where we are, too.
"Why isn't Lynda or Wessley here with us?" I ask. "I mean, we’re in Russia. And we don't even speak the language."
"Saving money," Dean answers. "But I guess one of them should be here instead of me."
"The program is in English," Lorraine says, turning to us to roll her eyes. "And anyways, if you didn't notice, we're the original three."
She's right, as always. We're where it all started. Without us - the three from a small town in Connecticut - no one would be here. Our seats would be filled by someone who never got offered an enormous sum for their tickets. We would all be at home, our minds free of worry. But this will all be for the best, right?
The three of us watch Katalina walk, not listening to the announcements of fashion designers, not paying attention to what's popular for spring. It's no wonder she's famous - she mesmerizes the crowd, with an almost... magical quality. She's a lot younger than the rest of the models, but that doesn't really change anything.
"Some of the models are signing autographs at the end of the show," Lorraine says, looking down at the papers in her hand. She hasn't glanced at it since the show started. "Katalina's on the list. But Chelsea isn't." I take this to mean that Chelsea still isn't able to speak to the public. My fault...
"So we'll go and talk to her..." Dean says. "But what do we say?"
"We'll figure it out," Lorraine says, her attention straying back to the clothes she wishes she had. "We always do."
----
I stare down at the piece of paper in my hands. A curly, elegant script is written on it in black ink. It's just a signature. Why is it so special, worth so much? Hopefully someday, and someday soon, my handwriting will be just as valuable.
"We didn't talk to her," Dean says flatly, his voice full of failure.
"I tried," Lorraine says, defending herself. "But there were just so many people around, and-"
"It's okay, we get it. But still... that was just a big waste of time and money."
"What are we gonna do now?" I ask. Lorraine is not one to come home with a failed mission.
"We do what they do in the movies, obviously." She looks around the catwalk, looking for something.
"What do they do in the movies?"
"Break into the dressing rooms."
----
"This is ridiculous," Dean says, hiding behind the door. The dressing room is decorated in all shades of yellow, from the vanity to the pillows on the chairs. "Is she ever gonna come?"
"Shh," Lorraine says. "Focus on what to do."
"There's nothing to do."
"There will be. Just-" The door knob of the dressing room turns, and Lorraine immediately shuts up.
In walks Katalina, looking as perfect as she did on the runway. She then sits down at the vanity and flashes herself a smile. Lorraine gives Dean the cue and he shuts the door, locking it.
This is when Katalina notices that she is not alone, spotting Lorraine at the back of the room. She opens her mouth to yell something, but I quickly hit her with a silencing spell. It doesn't seem to work correctly, because squeaking sounds can still be heard coming from her throat.
Lorraine magically seals the door and panic flashes across Katalina's features. She tries to run, but a barrier stops her from reaching the door.
"We're not going to hurt you," Lorraine says. "You can be sure of that."
Obviously, she doesn't believe this, because she reaches out to strike Lorraine. But Lorraine just quickly moves away, staying calm.
Dean walks up behind her and touches her hand. The glow starts up, as expected. Katalina looks at Dean and jerks her hand away - just a second too late. Even in Russia, Dean isn't ugly.
"You're one of us," I say. And with that, we launch into the fairytale that used to be our lives.
----
Okay, Katalina," Lorraine says. "You know the story."
"What do you think?" I ask. I don't expect her to speak or anything, but she doesn't even react. Stunned, probably.
"I'm going to remove the spell so you can tell us." Lorraine works her quick magic.
Katalina hesitates for a minute, then speaks. "You are crazy," she hisses, a slight Russian accent in her speech. I notice that she speaks without contractions. "I am not going. I will scream and that will be the end of you."
"But-"
"No. You can not keep me here forever. You can leave now and I will let it go. Thank me for being generous to you."
"But you have to-"
"Leave. Now."
We have no choice but to do so.
"Shh," Lorraine says, "this is a fashion show. If you don't like it, why did you come?"
"Because you told me to."
"Shush."
"It's not that this is a fashion show, anyways," Dean explains. "It's just that the money we wasted to get these seats could have been used for something better."
"Yeah, yeah. We know how frugal you are," Lorraine replies, craning her next to get a better view of the models.
She's right about Dean. Even when we were living at Lynda's, he never wanted to spend money. Even though we had all the money we could have wanted or needed. I would always just find him reading a book, or doing something low cost. He wouldn't even buy new clothes - until we convinced him that they were unwearable. Lorraine had to pick out things for him.
"It's not a bad thing to be," Dean says. "Especially in our situation."
"Chelsea!" I suddenly blurt out as I watch the line of models. Somewhere along the line, my subconscious thoughts match the name to the face - and yes, Chelsea McPhee is here. It doesn't surprise me that I recognized her. I ruined her life, after all.
"You're right!" Lorraine exclaims, jumping up. Angry yells come from behind us and she quickly sits down again. "She looks good."
"How could she not?" I say. "She's Chelsea McPhee."
"Yeah, but after the incident..."
I cringe. "Don't talk about it."
Luckily for me, Lorraine and Dean don't like to speak of it either. We just watch the gorgeous nineteen-year-old (twelve-year-old?) walk up and down the runway.
But we can see her talking small, hesitant steps in her high heels. Not the confident strides she used to take. It's as if she has to learn how to walk all over again. In heels, at least.
With the sight of this familiar face, I find myself wishing to see another - Leilani. But I know that this is a pointless wish; Leilani never wanted to make it big, and would have had no reason to go to Russia.
"I see Katalina!" Lorraine says. A tall girl with white-blonde hair (not unlike Lynda's) and striking features starts to walk the runway. Her bright smile dazzles everyone and leaves them stunned.
"She looks nice," Dean murmurs, "Easy to talk to."
"Looks aren't everything," Lorraine says. Maybe she's right, but looks sure as hell do matter a lot. Especially where we are, too.
"Why isn't Lynda or Wessley here with us?" I ask. "I mean, we’re in Russia. And we don't even speak the language."
"Saving money," Dean answers. "But I guess one of them should be here instead of me."
"The program is in English," Lorraine says, turning to us to roll her eyes. "And anyways, if you didn't notice, we're the original three."
She's right, as always. We're where it all started. Without us - the three from a small town in Connecticut - no one would be here. Our seats would be filled by someone who never got offered an enormous sum for their tickets. We would all be at home, our minds free of worry. But this will all be for the best, right?
The three of us watch Katalina walk, not listening to the announcements of fashion designers, not paying attention to what's popular for spring. It's no wonder she's famous - she mesmerizes the crowd, with an almost... magical quality. She's a lot younger than the rest of the models, but that doesn't really change anything.
"Some of the models are signing autographs at the end of the show," Lorraine says, looking down at the papers in her hand. She hasn't glanced at it since the show started. "Katalina's on the list. But Chelsea isn't." I take this to mean that Chelsea still isn't able to speak to the public. My fault...
"So we'll go and talk to her..." Dean says. "But what do we say?"
"We'll figure it out," Lorraine says, her attention straying back to the clothes she wishes she had. "We always do."
----
I stare down at the piece of paper in my hands. A curly, elegant script is written on it in black ink. It's just a signature. Why is it so special, worth so much? Hopefully someday, and someday soon, my handwriting will be just as valuable.
"We didn't talk to her," Dean says flatly, his voice full of failure.
"I tried," Lorraine says, defending herself. "But there were just so many people around, and-"
"It's okay, we get it. But still... that was just a big waste of time and money."
"What are we gonna do now?" I ask. Lorraine is not one to come home with a failed mission.
"We do what they do in the movies, obviously." She looks around the catwalk, looking for something.
"What do they do in the movies?"
"Break into the dressing rooms."
----
"This is ridiculous," Dean says, hiding behind the door. The dressing room is decorated in all shades of yellow, from the vanity to the pillows on the chairs. "Is she ever gonna come?"
"Shh," Lorraine says. "Focus on what to do."
"There's nothing to do."
"There will be. Just-" The door knob of the dressing room turns, and Lorraine immediately shuts up.
In walks Katalina, looking as perfect as she did on the runway. She then sits down at the vanity and flashes herself a smile. Lorraine gives Dean the cue and he shuts the door, locking it.
This is when Katalina notices that she is not alone, spotting Lorraine at the back of the room. She opens her mouth to yell something, but I quickly hit her with a silencing spell. It doesn't seem to work correctly, because squeaking sounds can still be heard coming from her throat.
Lorraine magically seals the door and panic flashes across Katalina's features. She tries to run, but a barrier stops her from reaching the door.
"We're not going to hurt you," Lorraine says. "You can be sure of that."
Obviously, she doesn't believe this, because she reaches out to strike Lorraine. But Lorraine just quickly moves away, staying calm.
Dean walks up behind her and touches her hand. The glow starts up, as expected. Katalina looks at Dean and jerks her hand away - just a second too late. Even in Russia, Dean isn't ugly.
"You're one of us," I say. And with that, we launch into the fairytale that used to be our lives.
----
Okay, Katalina," Lorraine says. "You know the story."
"What do you think?" I ask. I don't expect her to speak or anything, but she doesn't even react. Stunned, probably.
"I'm going to remove the spell so you can tell us." Lorraine works her quick magic.
Katalina hesitates for a minute, then speaks. "You are crazy," she hisses, a slight Russian accent in her speech. I notice that she speaks without contractions. "I am not going. I will scream and that will be the end of you."
"But-"
"No. You can not keep me here forever. You can leave now and I will let it go. Thank me for being generous to you."
"But you have to-"
"Leave. Now."
We have no choice but to do so.