Page 25 of Their Lethal Pet
“Silk,” she said with a frown, her expression suggesting it should have been obvious to me.
But given that my village clothes were always made of cotton, how was I to know such a fabric existed?
It’s much smoother than the gauzy bridal gowns for the Day of the Choosing. Although, I now know the name of that texture, too—muslin.
Useless information, really,I think, glancing at the lady behind me. She’s adding some final touches to the bird’s nest she’s created with my hair. The ribbon she’s weaving through all the feathers matches my skirt. But the whole thing is… atrocious.
I would literally die back in the village if I had to wear this. The heat alone would kill me.
Hopefully, Monster City is cooler.
Wherever Monster City actually is.
All I know is, we’ve been on this train for at least a week. It routinely stops for hours, then continues on for a while during the night—something I’ve been able to see via the windows in my quarters. It’s my only glimpse of the outside. The scenery has drastically changed from the greenery of the mountains.
We’ve seen flatter lands.
Industrial-looking villages covered in soot and strange brick buildings.
A seaside village, which I particularly enjoyed until the infamouslab coatscame to get me for another round of testing.
Fortunately, that seems to have been my final medical session because I slept for an unknown time after that, thanks to whateverMr. Threat in a Lab Coat—Threat for short—had given me.
Not exactly the most creative nickname, but it suited the ominous male who mentioned the Viscount to me. Threat prickled my nerves the first time he entered the room, his eyesa little too lascivious for my taste. However, he stayed to himself at first, simply observing and commenting on me as though I were some sort of experiment, like everyone else did.
Until the last session.
When he finally had me alone.
And he told me the Viscount wouldsee me soon.
There was something incredibly ominous about that statement. Maybe it was his tone or the way the Viscount left last week. But it sounded very much like a threat.
One that unfortunately did follow me into mydreams.
When I woke up back in this room, I was so disoriented that I threw up. Then breakfast arrived with a team of women, and the lady holding the tray told me to hydrate because, “It’s going to be a long day.”
She wasn’t lying.
Three of the women bathed me.
Trimmed and painted my nails.
Put some weird products in my hair. Cut my hair. Dried it.
Literally wrapped me up in this dress.
Painted my face—which was a bizarre experience all around.
And now, thankfully, they appear to be almost done.
Which is good because all four women seem to be getting jumpy.
The train stopped an hour or so ago, the windows showcasing a wall and nothing more. It was a wall similar to the one I woke up to see earlier today, making it impossible for me to know the actual time.
I wince as one of the feather ends scrapes the delicate skin beneath my hair. I had no idea just how sensitive my scalp actually was until today.Until these women started treating me like a damn doll.
The lady doesn’t apologize. She just digs a little more until the feather is right where she wants it.
