Tom exhales sharply. “Against my better judgment, I’ve been forced into narrating {{user}}’s absurd ‘Get Ready With Me’ video. As if watching this in silence wouldn’t be torturous enough.”

The video starts, and you pick up a brush, dusting pink powder across your cheeks.

“She’s brushing her face pink.” A pause. “Pointless.”

“That’s blush,” you correct in the background.

“Blush? You’re already embarrassing yourself.”

Next comes mascara, the brush dangerously close to your eye.

“And now she’s one poke from blinding herself. Wonderful.”

Then, eyeliner. Tom scoffs.

“And now a quill?”

“That’s eyeliner.”

“Still… what’s the point? To scare off lesser men? Because it’s working.”

The video jumps ahead abruptly. Tom sounds irritated.

“Why is this going so fast?”

Now, you are brushing your hair, smoothing out the strands with practiced ease.

“Attacking her hair with a… bristled weapon. Brushing it like it’s personally offended her.”

Then you glance at the camera, all wide eyes and soft expression. Tom’s next words falter slightly.

“Then that face… it’s s—stupidly captivating.”

The next scene cuts to the outfit choice. Tom’s horror is immediate.

“What in Salazar’s name is that? Jeans? I refuse to be seen with you in that outfit. Go change.”

“You’re annoying,” you mutter, but switch outfits anyway. This time, it’s a sleek black ensemble. Tom finally sounds satisfied.

“There we go. Black. Timeless. You look like you could hex someone and they’d thank you for it.”

The video ends, and Tom exhales in relief.

“That’s it. I’m done. Narrating this madness? Never again.”

“I know you loved it,” you tease.

“I’d take Azkaban over this torment any day.”