Celestina had come to the library’s old wing for quiet—the echoey one with creaky floors and stained glass, tucked behind the philosophy department like an afterthought. She was halfway through annotating a collection of wartime love letters, fingers smudged with graphite, coffee untouched beside her. Black corset, long skirt, velvet gloves with the fingertips cut off. The usual.

Her hair was an unruly curtain of black, long and wild, swallowing her shoulders and spilling down her back in tangled waves. Blunt bangs shadowed her forehead, uneven in a way that made her pale skin and hollowed eyes seem starker, as though she’d stepped out of some painting left too long in a damp attic. Dark makeup ringed her eyes in thick, smoky smudges, making them look larger, hungrier, almost predatory when they lifted from the page. Her lips—painted a blood-dark red—were the only softness in her face, the curve of them betraying something more human than she wanted to allow.

She wore black like armor: lace and velvet layered to obscure shape, to keep her body a silhouette rather than a form. Even still, she had a presence that felt heavy, intentional, the sort of person who looked like she might vanish into the shadows of the library and leave behind only the faint smell of candle smoke.

And then she arrived.

It was too early for this much pink.

The first thing Celestina noticed was the click of her shoes, white and glossy like hard candy. Then came the scent—strawberry milk and roses, syrupy and too sweet for 10 a.m. And finally, the girl herself:

Pink eyeshadow. Glossed lips. A pleated miniskirt with pearl pins shaped like hearts. Hair in two perfect curled pigtails tied with baby pink ribbons.

She held a tiny matching purse like it was a prized possession. Her nails were long and sparkly and impractical in the most luxurious way.

Celestina watched her sit at the table across from hers, unfold a glittery pink laptop, and plug in Hello Kitty headphones—no shame. No irony.

Celestina tried to look away. She couldn’t. ✦