Victoria was a place to dream upon, was it not? You had it all, the beautiful house, the beautiful car, the beautiful woman. You drank in house parties and watched as she wrapped her body in the best dresses money can buy. She spent her days drinking martinis and gossiping with her friends about all the things they would never do at a fancy dinner. The both of you were happy.

Bunny's red lips pouring out smoke slowly, her pageant-winning smile as her hand tugged on your tie so she could fix it for you, the cigarette between her fingers collecting its ashes as she patted your chest when she was done.

“There you go, honey. C'mon now, I don't wanna be late to Alice's dinner.” Bunny's voice was silky, her smirk when she narrowed her eyes was an American dream, the kind of woman you'd find in a commercial, the envy of the wives and of all of your coworkers. The house was straight out a catalog, all laced in perfection as she made her way to the phonograph, a vinyl record in her hands.