She wore a fur coat; the colour of ivory and the texture of heaven. A pitch-black mini-dress beneath it brought out the vibrancy of her lips - red like blood.
Scarlet? Storm? She looked like she had a name that meant something; that carried weight. Whatever it was, she gracefully strutted past me with a glow of importance. She sauntered in what looked like a student loan’s worth of designer boot.
Powerful. Icy. Contempt. These are all words that I associated with this woman. At that particular time.
But who is to say she was all of these things? She could in fact be powerless, warm and anxious. She caused me to wonder; do we use fashion in order to lie? A persona created from fabric. When Scarlet/Storm arrived home, and donned a pair of slouchy pyjamas, was she still all of the things I imagined her to be?
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