The frigid air of the winter evening nipped at Violet's bare skin as she trailed Ivy down the deserted street toward the row of houses. Each exhale turned into tiny clouds of mist, and as she looked at Ivy, she noticed a change in her friend's demeanour as they approached her home. The composed façade Ivy typically wore was now tinged with a hint of unease, her body tense and her eyes darting ahead with keen alertness.
"Hold up," Ivy raised her hand, halting Violet mid-step. Her eyes were glued to the driveway, scanning for any sign of her uncle's car. The space was bare, yet a sense of dread hung in the air. "He's not home," she muttered. "But Diane might be. Stay quiet and follow my lead."
Violet tightened her grip on the plastic bag that held the purple box dye, a sense of unease washing over her. The light-hearted banter they had enjoyed on their way back from the store had faded, replaced by a tense silence filled with cautious whispers and furtive glances. As they neared the house, Ivy gestured toward the dimly lit area beneath her bedroom window. "Wait there. I'll go in first and check if it's clear."
Violet nodded, crouching down and wrapping her blazer around herself for warmth. She watched intently as Ivy unlocked the door and slipped inside, the soft creak of the hinges making Violet hold her breath in anticipation.
Ivy glided through the house like a whisper, her instincts finely tuned to the subtle shifts in her surroundings. The serene stillness surrounding her was the first reassuring sign that everything was alright. The hallway was free of stray heels, and the usual distant beat of music from Diane's phone, which typically flooded the area with a mix of pop hits and laughter, was absent. A small smirk played on Ivy's lips as the familiar fragrance of Diane's perfume wafted near the front door, a sweet blend of jasmine and sandalwood that solidified her suspicion—Diane was out for the night, likely off on another one of her spontaneous work calls. Diane found herself without a job most evenings, except when her regular bar needed a last-minute bartender to cover a shift. In those cases, she would usually jump at the chance, viewing it more as an opportunity to socialize and flirt rather than a traditional work obligation.
Feeling a sense of relief wash over her, Ivy headed to her bedroom, the soft carpet muffling her footsteps. She gently shut the door, the soft click of the latch resonating in the quiet. The room felt like a peaceful retreat, bathed in moonlight that streamed through the curtains, creating shimmering patterns on the floor. Ivy moved with purpose, her heart racing with anticipation as she approached the window. She carefully slid it open just enough to invite Violet inside, the cool evening air brushing against her skin like a gentle caress.
Leaning out, Ivy extended her hand, her fingers curling in a beckoning gesture. "Come on, quick."
Violet took hold of Ivy's hand and nimbly squeezed through the window, landing softly on the floor with a gentle thump. She paused for a moment to catch her breath, then leaned in and whispered, "We good?"
Ivy nodded, a playful smile spreading across her face as she held up the plastic bag like a trophy. "We're good."
With the tension dissipating, Violet's expression brightened. "So, what are we waiting for? Let's get this started!" She seized Ivy's wrist and pulled her toward the bathroom, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.
⋯
The bathroom felt small yet inviting, with the mirror slightly misted from the coolness that clung to their skin. The soft glow of the overhead light cast a warm hue over the tiled walls, creating an atmosphere that was both cosy and intimate. Ivy leaned against the sink, arms folded, her posture a mix of confidence and apprehension, while Violet carefully opened the box of dye as if it were a precious artifact, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
"Okay, princess," Violet said with a teasing grin, "are you ready for your grand transformation?"
Ivy rolled her eyes, but there was a faint trace of amusement in her tone. "Just don't screw it up."
As Violet skilfully applied the dye, their conversation flowed effortlessly. Despite their differing personalities, the playful exchanges felt natural and easy. Ivy, usually reserved and sceptical, found herself laughing more than she had in a long time.
"You've got a steady hand," Ivy remarked, her voice softer than usual.
"Why the shock? Do I seem clumsy to you?" Violet shot back with a playful smile. "You should be grateful I'm the one doing this. Without me, you'd likely end up with a messy dye job and a few tears."
"I wouldn't cry over little things like that."
"Sure you wouldn't," Violet teased, her smile growing as she playfully tousled Ivy's hair.
As the dye worked its magic, the pair settled onto the cool bathroom floor, their backs pressed against the chilly tiles. Violet regaled Ivy with tales of her colourful hair adventures—vivid pinks, striking blues, and even a regrettable green phase that...well ended poorly. Ivy listened intently, a genuine amusement lighting up her face, her lips curling into a smile that felt almost unfamiliar.
When the timer chimed, Violet sprang up, yanking Ivy to her feet. "It's the moment of truth!" she declared, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she guided Ivy to the sink for the big rinse. The anticipation hung in the air like a thick fog, and Ivy felt her heart race as she approached the mirror, her reflection still obscured by the remnants of the dye.
The experience was chaotic yet filled with joy, as Violet splashed water around, her laughter ringing out as Ivy playfully swatted at her, trying to dodge the droplets that flew in every direction. "You're going to ruin my uniform!" Ivy protested, though her voice was laced with laughter.
"Oh please, it's just water!" Violet shot back, her grin wide as she continued to splash water, the two of them caught in a playful battle.
As the final rinse came to an end and the towel was gently removed, Ivy shut her eyes, savouring the moment as Violet diligently dried her hair with a towel. Given its thickness, Ivy knew it would take some time, and she could already imagine Violet's arms growing weary from the effort. After a good while, when Ivy's hair was at least partially dry, Violet would let out a soft sigh and cheerfully announce, "Alright! Now take a look!"
With a moment's hesitation, Ivy opened her eyes, first peeking with one eye and then the other. Gazing into the mirror, she was taken aback by her reflection. Her hair had transformed into a stunning dark plum, with flashes of magenta that shimmered in the light. It was striking, daring, and so different from her usual appearance that she could hardly recognize the girl looking back at her.
Ivy's face was a mask of uncertainty at first, her gaze taking in every nuance around her. Her fingers fidgeted at her sides, and her breath caught momentarily.
"Ivy?" Violet's tone softened, her usual playfulness replaced by a hint of worry. She moved closer, resting a hand on Ivy's shoulder. "Are you alright?"
A solitary tear rolled down Ivy's cheek. Her lips quivered as she struggled to find her voice, but then a genuine smile emerged—warm yet laced with disbelief. She let out a shaky laugh, brushing the tear away quickly, as if embarrassed.
"I look…" Ivy began, her voice cracking. "I look—"
"Beautiful," Violet finished for her, her own eyes glistening as she pulled Ivy into a hug. "You look like a princess. So, so pretty."
Ivy surrendered to the warmth of the embrace, her defences dissolving as she held Violet close. It was more than just the hair; it was about discovering a fresh perspective on herself, about releasing a fragment of the sorrow that had burdened her for ages. The gentle rhythm of Violet's heartbeat against her own felt like a soothing balm, washing away the remnants of doubt and despair that had clung to her for so long.
For the first time in years, Ivy felt free.
⋯
The faint light from Ivy's bedside lamp cast a soft glow around the room as Violet stealthily slipped out of bed. She stole a glance at Ivy, who lay peacefully, her gentle breathing the only noise breaking the silence. A rush of emotions surged through Violet as she admired Ivy's serene expression. In her sleep, Ivy appeared breath-taking—a stark contrast to her typical, more guarded and sharp-witted demeanour. Violet's fingers unconsciously grazed the number in her pocket as she swallowed the lump forming in her throat.
"She's just a…friend," Violet whispered to herself, her voice barely audible. However, the fluttering sensation in her chest was far from ordinary. It felt like the start of something she couldn't yet define, something that scared and thrilled her all at once.
Violet focused on Ivy's backpack, a sense of unease creeping in as she contemplated her next move. It wasn't mere curiosity driving her; it was a desperate need to break free—not just for her own sake, but for the brighter future she envisioned beyond these frigid nights and transient acts of kindness. With a heavy heart, she slowly unzipped the bag, striving to keep her actions as quiet as possible.
Ivy's cracked phone slipped into her hand, its screen dim but still functional. Violet fiddled with the buttons until the home screen lit up. Next, she reached into Ivy's blazer pocket, her fingers gliding over the rough material before retrieving a slightly wrinkled note. Quietly, Violet padded out of the room, the door closing behind her with the faintest click. Her fingers trembled as she dialled the number. It rang twice before a calm, professional voice answered.
"WhiteHorse Agency. How can we assist you?"
Violet swallowed hard. "H-hi. My name is Violet Jenkins. I called earlier today...about funding for school." Her voice cracked slightly.
"Ah, Miss Jenkins. One moment while I locate your file," the receptionist said smoothly. There was a faint tapping sound in the background as the receptionist worked.
The pause stretched longer than Violet anticipated, her nerves getting the better of her. She glanced back at the door to Ivy's room, as if seeking reassurance. Her heart raced, drowning out the faint buzz of the phone line.
"Miss Jenkins?" the receptionist said, breaking the silence. "I've located your file. Are you certain you'd like to proceed? Please note that this financial assistance requires repayment to the agency once your educational period concludes."
Violet clenched the phone tightly. After a deep inhale, the doubt that had been weighing her down transformed into a spark of determination. "Yes," she replied with conviction. "I understand, and I want to go through with it."
The receptionist affirmed her answer and started to detail the upcoming steps, mentioning that more paperwork and a formal meeting were on the horizon. Violet nodded along, even though the other person couldn't see her, murmuring quiet acknowledgments.
Once the call ended, Violet lingered in the hallway, her head resting lightly against the wall. The relief of having made the decision warred with the guilt of doing it without Ivy knowing. As she re-entered the room, Ivy stirred slightly but didn't wake. Violet set the phone down gently on the bedside table and climbed back into the bed, careful not to disturb her friend.
She watched Ivy sleep for a while longer, her thoughts swirling. Maybe she was just overwhelmed by everything, mistaking kindness for something deeper. Or maybe, just maybe, she was starting to feel something real. Curling up under the blanket, Violet shut her eyes. Whatever it was, she wasn't ready to face it just yet. For now, she'd focus on the steps ahead—the school, the agency, and the life she was determined to build.
⋯
The first light of dawn streamed through the slats of Ivy's blinds, casting intricate patterns of light that flickered across the room. Violet sat on the edge of the bed, wrapping her jacket tightly around the tank top she had altered just a few days prior.
The fabric felt warm and cherished against her skin, a garment that had once belonged to Ivy but now showcased Violet's personal flair. She had spent hours transforming it, carefully sewing on patches and a few fake gems. The tank top, once a simple piece of clothing, had become a canvas for Violet's creativity, adorned with vibrant patches of flowers, stars, and even a small, hand-stitched heart. A handful of glimmering rhinestones reflected the light, sparkling like miniature stars strewn across the fabric, adding a dash of brilliance that mirrored her excitement and anxiety. As she nervously fiddled with the zipper, her mind raced with a flurry of thoughts.
Today was the day.
She dedicated her weekend to ticking off every last item on her school enrolment checklist. The calls from the WhiteHorse Agency poured in one after another, each conversation inching her closer to making this pivotal move a reality. Still, she kept her lips sealed around Ivy. Not a whisper escaped during their laundry folding sessions, no hints were dropped at the dinner table, and she remained silent even as Ivy passionately vented about school.
"She'd just get her hopes up...what if something goes wrong...?" Violet had repeated that line to herself so often it started to feel like a mantra. Yet, the burden of holding onto the secret remained unchanged. In fact, it seemed to grow more oppressive with each passing day.
As the house settled into a peaceful hush, with Clive and Diane off to their daily routines and Ivy already at school, Violet seized her bag and quietly slipped out the door.
As she wandered through the bustling streets, the air crackled with vitality, the city's din almost overwhelming her senses. Vehicles honked their horns in a frenzied orchestra, each blare underscoring the unyielding rhythm of city life. Conversations erupted around her, laughter intertwining with shouts, weaving a lively mosaic of sound that bounced off the towering structures nearby. The sharp tang of exhaust fumes hung in the air, a stark contrast to the mouth-watering scents wafting from nearby food stalls, where vendors called out enticing offers of sizzling skewers and fragrant spices. With each step, Violet felt her anxiety intensify, a tightening knot in her stomach, yet her determination remained unwavering, a flickering flame against the overwhelming tide of doubt.
The WhiteHorse Agency stood before her just as she recalled—tall, formidable, and sleekly modern. Its angular design sliced through the sky, a multitude of tinted windows glimmering in the sunlight like a fortress of glass and steel. The building radiated an aura of authority and professionalism, its imposing presence a testament to the power and influence that lay within. Despite knowing she belonged here, the recollections of her previous visit twisted her stomach into knots.
Years had passed, yet the echoes of her past desperation still haunted her. On that fateful day, she had cried out for assistance, yearning for anything that might help her survive. The memory of her voice, raw and trembling, reverberated in her mind like a distant storm. She had left with nothing but the clothes on her back, feeling more like a ghost than a person—adrift in a world that had once felt so familiar, now transformed into a landscape of shadows and uncertainty.
But today marked a new chapter. She wasn't driven by despair; she was here to forge a brighter future for herself.
The weight of her past, though still present, no longer defined her. Instead, it served as a reminder of her resilience, a testament to the strength she had discovered within herself. With each step she took, she felt the chains of her former life loosening, replaced by a sense of purpose that surged through her veins.
With a steadying breath, Violet pushed open the glass doors and entered the lobby. The space was as modern and polished as the outside, featuring gleaming floors that reflected the overhead lights like a sea of stars. A striking palette of blues and silvers enveloped her, creating an atmosphere that was both calming and invigorating. The air was infused with a subtle scent of fresh coffee and polished wood. A prominent WhiteHorse emblem was carved into the wall behind the reception desk, its sharp lines exuding an air of authority. It stood as a symbol of ambition and success, a beacon for those who dared to live in this cruel world.
Violet felt a flicker of hope ignite within her as she approached the desk, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and trepidation. The receptionist, a sharply dressed young man with a dazzling smile, looked up and welcomed her.
"Good morning! How may I assist you today?"
"I'm Violet Jenkins," she replied, her voice more confident than she had anticipated. "I'm here to collect my uniform and supplies."
The receptionist quickly typed on his keyboard, then nodded in acknowledgment. "Certainly, Miss Jenkins. Please have a seat, and someone will be with you shortly."
Violet took a moment to survey her surroundings as she settled into one of the plush chairs in the waiting area. She observed a steady stream of Semi-Immortals coming and going, their faces reflecting a mix of determination and weariness. She pondered how many shared her Low-Rank status, each one grappling to carve out a place in a world that seemed uncertain of their existence. The air was thick with unspoken stories, each individual carrying the weight of their own struggles, their own battles against the tides of time and fate. Some wore their scars openly, while others masked their pain behind practiced smiles, but Violet could see the flicker of doubt in their eyes—a shared understanding of the precariousness of their lives.
Moments later, a woman clutching a clipboard approached her. "Miss Jenkins?" Her voice was crisp, cutting through the ambient noise like a knife.
Violet acknowledged her with a nod, feeling a mix of anticipation and anxiety. She followed the woman down a corridor, the walls lined with framed photographs of past Semi-Immortals, their faces frozen in time, each one a testament to the legacy they had built. With each step, the bustling sounds of the city faded, swallowed by the thick walls and soundproofed spaces surrounding them. The vibrant chaos of life outside felt like a distant memory, replaced by the sterile atmosphere of the facility.
They finally reached a compact office, where a neatly arranged uniform and a bag of supplies awaited on the desk.
"This is everything you'll need for school," the woman explained, her voice warm and reassuring. "Inside, you'll find your schedule for the first week along with the contact details for your assigned counsellor. If you have any questions or need assistance, please feel free to reach out."
Violet accepted the uniform and bag with a soft "thank you," feeling the weight of the items in her arms. It was heavier than she anticipated, but it was a comforting weight—like the promise of new beginnings. The fabric of the uniform was crisp and neatly pressed, the colours vibrant and inviting. She could almost envision herself wearing it, standing tall among her peers, ready to embrace the challenges and adventures that lay ahead.
⋯
The journey home felt drawn out, her mind a whirlwind of exhilaration and remorse. Ivy's face lingered in her memory—those striking eyes and that cunning smile, effortlessly cutting through any façade. Violet found herself torn; she didn't want to deceive Ivy, but she wasn't prepared to unveil the truth just yet.
As she arrived at the house, a heavy guilt settled in her chest, throbbing like a dull ache. The familiar creak of the front door echoed in the quiet hallway, a sound that once brought her comfort now felt like a reminder of the weight she carried. She carefully placed the uniform and supplies in the closet of her makeshift room, tucking them away beneath a heap of old clothes that smelled faintly of mothballs and memories. Each piece of clothing Ivy had previously stored away felt like a piece of her past, a reminder of a life she was eager to leave behind, yet struggled to completely let go of.
Later that day, when Ivy burst through the door, her usual fiery spirit was ablaze. She flung her bag onto the couch with a dramatic flair, the thud echoing through the room like a cannonball.
"Ugh! Do you know how many times I had to hear the word 'Barney' today?" Ivy exclaimed, tugging at a vibrant strand of her newly dyed purple hair. "Barney, grape, freaking jellybean! I swear, Violet, I'm about to—"
Violet couldn't help but chuckle, her laughter warm and inviting, a soothing balm against the turmoil in her heart. "You look incredible, Ivy. They're just envious because they lack the courage to rock a look as daring as yours."
Ivy let out an exasperated sigh but chose not to argue, sinking into the couch next to Violet.
"Are you serious?" Ivy inquired, her cheeks tinged with a rosy hue as she pouted like a child, her lips pressed together. She avoided meeting Violet's gaze, which only prompted another giggle from her friend and a playful nod.
"Hmph! Come on, I'm being serious here!" Ivy protested, though a smile crept onto her face at the sound of Violet's laughter.
"Sorry, Sorry~ I honestly meant it, though~" Violet teased, her voice light as she tenderly brushed a strand of Ivy's hair behind her ear. "Purple looks so much better on you than blonde."
Ivy glanced at Violet, feeling her cheeks heat up further from the gentle touch, and blurted out, "Oh...A-alright...! W-well I'll let you off with a warning this time so consider yourself lucky," though her tone lacked any real sting.
They stayed in that moment, feeling the weight of the day gradually ease with each passing second. The couch sagged under their weight, its fabric frayed and uneven, yet neither Violet nor Ivy seemed to care. Violet reclined, her hands gently cradling her belly, her gaze fixed on Ivy as she fiddled with a stray thread on the armrest. The television buzzed softly in the background, though neither of them were paying attention. A comforting warmth surrounded them, a silence that felt effortless and calming, devoid of any trace of unease.
Violet inhaled deeply.
This was the moment...
She had been carrying this secret for days, letting it gnaw at her like an itch she couldn't scratch. But now—now felt right. She could just say it. It wasn't a big deal, right?
"Ivy, there's something I need to tell you," Violet said, her voice just above a whisper.
Ivy hummed in response, still focused on the thread, until she caught the shift in Violet's tone. Her hand stilled.
"What is it?" Ivy turned to her, brows furrowing slightly.
Violet took a breath, gathering every ounce of courage she had. "It's about school. I—"
The unmistakable jingle of keys at the front door caused both of them to freeze, their hearts racing as they exchanged anxious glances. A deep, familiar growl echoed through the air—Diane.
Fuck.
Ivy shot up from the couch like a spring, grabbing Violet's wrist without hesitation. "Shit—come on."
"What? Wait, Ivy, I need to—"
"No time!" Ivy hissed, dragging Violet down the narrow hallway. Their footsteps were light, quick, and desperate. The front door creaked open behind them, the rustling of bags and heavy footsteps filling the house.
Violet tried again, her fingers tightening around Ivy's hand. "Ivy, just listen for a second—"
"Shhh," Ivy cut her off, shoving Violet into her messy bedroom.
Violet stumbled slightly, catching herself on the edge of Ivy's desk. "Ivy, let me just—"
Ivy, however, didn't step inside. She lingered at the threshold, her figure effectively obstructing the entrance as she gradually pivoted to face the front door. In a final effort to halt her, Violet extended her hand, her fingers lightly grazing Ivy's sleeve. But Ivy slid away with ease, and with a decisive click, closed the door behind her.
Violet's heart hammered in her chest. She pressed her ear to the wood, hearing only the muffled tension of the moment unfolding outside.
Ivy stood stiffly outside her bedroom door as Diane stepped into the hallway, her sharp eyes scrutinizing her niece with thinly veiled suspicion. An unspoken tension filled the air, heavy and tangible, as if both recognized a deeper issue simmering between them.
For a moment, neither of them said a word.
Diane squinted her eyes. "…What are you doing?"
Ivy's teeth clenched tightly, her fingers digging into her palms.
Violet inhaled sharply, tension hanging in the air.