Seven-Envy

With a body like Collette's, you didn't need money.

Money just happened.

Collette was reading a magazine, holding it daintily between perfect sculpted hands, her dazzling manicure almost, but not quite covering the picture of her face on the cover.

Her hairdresser was chatting absentmindedly, and Collette could feel her nails scraping the top of her head with a little too much force, trying to make a scratch in the perfection that was her. It was delicious. That was the paradox of it. They hated her, but they would do anything she asked. Collette Dubois, famous for being rich, rich for being famous.

The little people, they were just an amusing snack for Collette. It was the celebrities she consumed. The beautiful ones, the big shots and famous self serving bastards who competed with her for the glossy covers.

Her bread and butter.

They'd emulate her, practically worship her, change their looks to her changing styles, their hair color with hers -oh, how funny to imagine they could do with dye what she could do with herself! They starved, went under the knife time after time after time, reaching for collette with their wax feathers, and Collette would drop them all, empty husks, more plastic and silicone and stitches than human, right to the bottom of their early graves.

Every fifty years or so, the names would change, of course. In five years, "Collette" would go out of style, just like "Brittany" and "Marilyn" and the countless others before them. An overdose, or stress, they'd say, and there'd be a funeral full of people trying to look sad.

But she'd be back. Oh, she always came back. Everything would be different, of course.different bones, different face, different hair... All except the eyes.

Emerald green, as they always were, bright and glassy and perfect, so infuriatingly perfect...

Just on their own, they'd make you seethe with Envy.

Collette glances up from her magazine. A new face was waving at her, a blanch smile bearing a letter.

She saw the seal. She tore the paper, fire in her green, green eyes. Her face twisted with rage, her fist crumpled the paper. The message bearer was already gone- a professional in dealing with this kind of folk, of course, and her Goddamn hairdresser was still trying to her her to hold still, to let her try to improve on the perfection that was her hair.

Collette glanced at her manicure. Perfect. Ah well, it never lasted anyway.

Collette melted away. The woman beside her stepped back, shocked.

Envy turned to her.

"I need something a bit more plain, a bit more low profile, understand?"

the woman scrambled back against the wall, shaking her head.

"No? Pretty please? I'll give it right back, I promise...." envy crooned, her hand flexing, lengthening.

A few minutes later, a woman exited Collette Dubois' personal dressing room. She looked a lot like Collette's personal hairdresser.
A body cooled on the floor of the changing room that looked almost nothing like her.

And a pair of stormy green eyes raged silently behind a stolen face.

-Locke and Peter

-Locke and Peter