adalie vasska // capitol. cb. fin.

The sound of the sewing machines and pencils working furiously on blank canvases, helping to design the latest trends, helping to design my living. Eyes narrowed, heels clicking behind me, I make my way through the studio, prepared to face the atrocities that are presented before me. I stop in front of each mannequin, where a different assistant has delicately prepared them for my final judgement. I make my way down the line, my eyes never linger too long, just a glance to determine their fate. "No. No. No," the rejections roll off my tongue. No one questions my decisions, they just immediately get back to work, trying to design something to please me. "No. Ew, I think I just threw up in my mouth a little. No. No." I'm almost at the end of the line when I pause, my eyes slowly traveling up and down the mannequin. My head snaps toward the assistant. "Just what were you thinking? Do you need some kind of help?" They try to mumble something in reply. "Ugh. That's it, you're fired," Another mumble of protest. "Please leave my sight immediately or I'll have to have someone escort you out," Silent tears stream down their face as they leave the studio. Not a minute later and someone else is sitting at their sewing machine, working on something to please me. A smile plays across my lips as I turn around and head back to my office. Who knew that being this great would feel so good.