The Atonement of a Writer

1. Arielle Dumont

"Sophie?" Arielle's eyes widened when she saw her crying maid.

"Oh, Miss..." Sophie sobbed into her hands. "We--we all thought you were--when we found you--"

"Hey," Arielle frowned. "I'm not that easy to kill. Noir got to you in time, didn't he?"

When she didn't stop crying, Arielle gently pushed Sophie's hands away from her face and raised it with a finger under her chin, forcing her to look at her. "Do I look stupid enough to go through with something without a few suitable backup plans?"

"N-no..."

"Then stop worrying. I'm not that reckless."

Of course, everyone but Arielle knew that she was just that reckless.

~*~

Everything was not better when she woke up.

Lili opened her eyes, blinked, and closed them again. She counted to three in her head...one, two, three...and reopened them.

It was still there.

She was lying on a soft bed, which was weird since she clearly remembered falling asleep at her computer desk. Instead of the old ceiling of her bedroom, she was staring at...red. It was a vibrant red canopy, so bright that her eyes hurt, looking very much like what one would find in some snobby billionaire's mansion. Slowly, she turned her head to the side, taking in the weird scene, and catching a glimpse of her velvet red hair on her pillow.

Wait. Red hair?

Last she checked, she was a brunette.

Slowly, Lili raised her hands to her face. Exhaling in relief at the familiar sight of her arms, she flopped them down on the bed. At least it was still her body--those were her arms, alright. She didn't cross worlds, like some shoujo manga. She almost chuckled at her own overimagination--she'd definitely read too much of those trashy, world-crossing romance novels.

The question remained, though--had she been kidnapped? And someone dyed her hair? How in the world did she sleep through all that? She pinched herself in the arm, so hard that her eyes watered. Not a dream then.

Getting up from bed, she pushed aside the curtains--a small part of her reveled at the idea of pushing aside bedside curtains like some actress in a movie--and, for some reason, the first thing that greeted her was the mirror from the vanity table. When she glanced into it, she immediately let out a soundless scream.

It was less of a scream and more of an uncontrollable wheeze. It was like something got stuck in her throat, so she couldn't make a sound, but she would certainly be shrillingly shrieking if she could. Though the body seemed like hers, the face staring back at her in the mirror was not her own. The person looking back at her was of a similar stature, but the face looked healthier, with a tinted rosy flush, but with softer, more delicate edges. Lili wasn't unhealthy, pre se, but constantly pulling all-nighters didn't do wonders for her skin, and this person's skin was so smooth and healthy. More importantly, instead of a dull blue-gray she was accustomed to, her eyes were a vibrant indigo so deep it was almost blue. Her long hair had turned red, resting in soft, gentle waves.

In other words, this person's image screamed photoshop. Lili refused to believe that somebody looking this perfect existed. Not without filters.

Plastic surgery?

Lili just stared at her reflection. What was happening? How did I sleep through all this? She internally screamed. Yet, she couldn't seem to make a sound.