“Ready when you are, Gianna.”

Because I do.

They think this is easy. They see the final product, the polished sin of it, and assume it’s just instinct. But this is a craft. It’s knowing how to angle my spine so the light hits the curve of my hip like a question. It’s the pause before a smile, the beat where I look away first. That’s the real trick. Making them believe they’re the hunter, when I’ve been the trap all along.

The makeup mirror is a ring of unforgiving light, but I’ve made peace with it. It doesn’t lie, and neither do I. Not anymore.