Chapter Text
Pandora Rosier is totally, absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred percent okay.
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The Den was louder than usual.The bass from the club floor thudded through the walls, glasses clinked, and discussion festered with cruel words and sharp tones.
Upstairs, in the belly of the beast (That beast being for sure a snake) where deals were struck and orders given, the very shadows seemed restless.
Word had spread: the Serpent’s international partners were arriving. Men with deep pockets and bloodied hands.
Men the Serpent wanted to impress.
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Pandora wasn't exactly sure what she was.
Then again she never really was sure of anything.
Was she a worker? Was she family? She'd damn sure been raised here. But no. That wasn't it.
Was she a prisoner? She hoped not.
Oh well.
Pandora Rosier is totally, absolutely, without a doubt, one hundred percent okay.
She has a bed in a room rather than the cell like blocks some girls were put in.
She's feed three square meals a day.
She owns clothes that cover her skin enough for her to feel calm and as comfortable as she can be.
She has a brother who loves her very much.
What more could she need?
See. Totally not a prisoner.
Pandora Rosier drifted down a dingy looking corridor with her little arms full. Clutched tightly she held a black dress bag, a velvet box, and small silver case.
She moved lightly, almost as if her feet didn’t touch the stained carpet, her expression faintly smiling, detached.
Mulciber intercepted her. Much to her distaste. He was all bulk and sneer, his eyes sliding over her like she was furniture.
“Make her pretty,” he said, thrusting the velvet box into her hands. “She needs to shine tonight. No excuses.”
Oh.
That's why she'd been summoned. They need Reina to be made up.
Alrighty.
That she can do.
Pandora tilted her head, the smile still hovering, and nodded like he’d asked her to set a table.
“Of course,” she said softly.
When he left, the smile wavered. She stood there a moment in the hall, hugging the dress bag to her chest. Her throat felt tight, her eyes prickled. She almost let herself cry , but then she drew in a sharp breath, pressed her lips together, and floated on.
Because what has she got to cry about really?
She couldn't forget to be grateful. She has a room, food, clothes and Evan.
She's very grateful.
Pandora had always been told she acted a certain way. Airy, untethered. It wasn’t stupidity, though plenty of men in the Den thought so. It was pure armor.
Pretending smoothed the jagged edges. Pretending let her survive. If she told herself that Evan went off to jobs instead of violent runs, if she told herself Reina danced because she loved it, if she told herself this whole place was some funny little game that would soon finish and she'd someday wake up free. Then maybe she wouldn’t break.
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She reached Reina’s room and slipped inside without knocking.
Reina sat on the narrow bed, her back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her knees. She looked up when Pandora entered, her expression hardening when she saw the dress bag.
“They want you tonight,” Pandora said gently. Her voice was lilting, too light for the words. “Big night. You’ll look lovely.” Pandora smiled, her jaw aching and eyes cloudy.
Reina said nothing. She just lowered her gaze to the floor, her jaw tightening.
But she didn't object. She sat pliantly. Still.
Pandora busied herself with the bag. She hung the dress carefully, smoothing it down with her palms. Midnight silk, too fine for the cracked walls of this room.
Oh Reina was so lucky she got a dress as beautiful and expensive looking as this. Lucky Reina. Lucky Dora. Lucky everyone
She unlatched the silver case, revealing makeup neatly packed, brushes gleaming all whilst humming to the tune in her head.
The velvet box held jewelry, decedent silver chains that would shimmer beneath the club’s lights.
“Come on Rei,” Pandora coaxed, patting the chair by the desk. “Let me make you shine.”
Reluctantly, Reina moved. She sat stiff-backed as Pandora began her work. The brush through her hair, the cool press of powder across her cheekbones, the faint tug of liner at her lashes.
Reina felt frozen. Pandora's humming and content smile made her feel sick.
Reina stared at her reflection in the cracked mirror. With every layer Pandora painstakingly painted on, she felt uglier beneath.
The woman in the mirror was not her, it was someone else’s damn doll.
She thought of Sirius would he still remember her face? Or had ten years blurred it beyond recognition? James, Effie, Monty, and Sirius. They had once been her world. Now all she had was this fragile girl humming and fucking kicking her legs as if they were at a sleepover.
“You look like a movie star,” Pandora said brightly, dabbing blush on her cheeks.
Reina’s voice was low, flat. “Don't you ever get tired of just pretending?”
Pandora’s hand stilled. And for the longest moment, she didn’t move. Then she smiled faintly at their reflection in the mirror.
“All the time,” she whispered, she sound something precious and pliable. “But if I stop, It'll all catch up to me you see?” she paused. "We cannot run from this life. But we can let our minds do the wandering."
The words lingered in the stale air.
Reina felt as though even her breath would snap this moment.
Then Pandora continued. Humming. Smiling.
Pandora fastened the dress, smoothed it down like a sister fussing before prom. She clasped the necklace around Reina’s throat, her hands trembling against the silver just slightly.
“There,” she said, her voice catching. “Beautiful.”
But to Reina, the word felt like a curse.
Men wanted beautiful things. And in the Snake Den, men got what they want.
Footsteps echoed in the hall, heavy and deliberate. Pandora flinched and stepped back, retreating into her airy mask again.
Reina squared her shoulders, her face painted, her body wrapped in silk. Tonight, she would be more than the Serpent’s pet.
Tonight she'd be given away.
Tonight she was a gift.
The door opened.
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Pandora Rosier is in denial.