The mirror had long cracked for Henrietta, locally called Hatti for the obvious. Not because she wasn’t beautiful in a way, but just because of the evil, let’s say. Actually let’s go with: she did it on purpose. She didn’t want to become Vain. She wanted to become herself, beyond the hat. But she knew it would take Time.
She purposefully made holes in it so that her blue-ish hair would poke through. Some say it was black, but that was just a trick of the light. A trick set up by Hatti/Henrietta as well. She certainly had talent in that direction, genius even.
Today she intended to ride her old Schwinn bike down into town and ask Peter Cotton out, who labors in a mill. She likes the way he walks the streets all sweaty and glisteny. Maybe it’s just a passing phase because last month she liked her men bone dry. But the one she had a particular eye on died at the first of the month, struck down by a mysterious malady and gone in hours. Some say deadly nightshade did him in. How peculiar. *She* has a jar of that very substance up in her cabinet over there with the rest of her poisons and potions. And it’s two teaspoons down from what it was last month. So curious, she pondered to herself with a wry smile forming on her cracked, withered lips which she’s covering with blood red lipstick right now. And all because he had the audacity to turn her down; hopefully Cotton will work out better.
Comic Baker Addon Door? How strange.
To the witch house…
5 til 3! she thought while looking out at the big Hooktip clock tower with her red and white umbrella peepers. I’ve got to get going!
I put on the garb of a white mage tonight, trying to act like I knew what I was doing. I was able to sit down on a diamond shaped plot of good ol’ actual Linden grass in a mainly artificial terrain constructed by the land owner of this little forest here, one Clare Nova. Remember her? Anyway I was smack dab on the Diagonal, at, let’s see, 36, 35. Close enough, as they say. One off of any of the two (or three) numbers is okay — difficult to tell any difference in the, um, energy, quote unquote. “It’s often not what’s right on The Diagonal,” I say to myself almost religiously, “it’s what you *see* from it.” Like that clock in the background Shelley Struthers up in the middle of the sim might be looking at at the same time. Actually, nope, in checking she’s put on that long Pepper shirt she likes now and is starting to brush her luxurious blonde hair (to her) in front of the vanity mirror. One stroke, she counts, two… three. Always 30 and she’s perfectly beautiful, almost as much as Ginger Granite down the lane. She can never get her bearings in this sim for some reason. What was its name?
She splashes water on her face and prepares to face the world.
Today is the day she’s going to get up the nerve to speak to Tommy Tailgate, maybe goad him into asking her out. Goad? How about “guide”? She wants to get better at doing such things. Like Ginger again.
*Shelley*. That was the name of the lane. Like her!
There. Picture perfect.