The school washroom was a dimly lit refuge, its tiles cool against Sylvia's trembling palms. Mrs. Harrington's words echoed in her mind: "Not fair enough." The sting of rejection clung to her like a stubborn shadow.
Sylvia had dreamed of the runway, but now it felt like an impossible distance.

As she leaned against the sink, anger bubbled within her. She was fair but not enough. Ridiculous!

And then, the door creaked open. Sylvia glanced up, expecting another student seeking solace. But it was Evelyn—the very girl she'd never quite understood. Evelyn, with her smiles and secrets hidden behind those dark eyes.

"You heard Mrs. Harrington, didn't you?" Evelyn's voice was softer than Sylvia expected. "She can be brutal."

Sylvia's anger flared anew. "What do you care?"

Evelyn stepped closer. "Because I've been there. I know what it's like to be dismissed, to feel like you're not enough."

Sylvia's curiosity warred with her resentment. "Why are you telling me this?"

Evelyn's hand slipped into her bag, retrieving something small and glimmering. Four ampoules of Glutathione lay in her palm, catching the washroom's feeble light.

"I've got these," she said. "Enough to light up a constellation. You want them?"

Sylvia's breath caught. She hated Evelyn. The way she moved through life like a shadow, the way rumours whispered about her. But this—this was an unexpected lifeline.

"Why?"

Evelyn's smile was bittersweet. "Because sometimes enemies make the best allies. We both want something, Sylvia. You want the runway, and I want..." She hesitated, her eyes flickering. "I want a pumpkin pie."

Sylvia weighed her options. Mrs. Harrington's disdain or Evelyn's enigmatic offer. The ampoules seemed to pulse with possibility. Not that she couldn't buy glutathione, just that her seizure history would not allow that.

"What's the catch?"

Evelyn's laughter held no mirth. "No catch. Just a genuine help."

Sylvia nodded, her resolve hardening. "Fine. But why help me?"

"Because maybe, just maybe, we can both find our way out of darkness."

And so, Sylvia took the ampoules, the liquid promise shining in her palm. She disliked Evelyn, but she'd use this alliance. Maybe, together, they'd forge a new kind of beauty, one that defied Mrs. Harrington's narrow standards.

Sylvia glanced at Evelyn. "Do you know how to inject them?"

...

Sylvia's palms grew clammy, and she wiped them on her lab coat. The periodic table on the wall blurred, its symbols dancing a chaotic waltz. She'd pushed herself too far, chasing beauty like a moth to flame. And now, her body rebelled.

She was early here, the air conditioner here was supposed to help. It didn't.

The room smelled of chemicals and the stainless-steel counters gleamed under fluorescent lights. Sylvia stood at her station with nerves coiled like live wires. Nobody else was there. None.

The beauty pageant seemed a distant memory now. Her skin was fairer, her resolve sharper but the spotlight had shifted to a more treacherous stage.

She'd taken Evelyn's offer, the Glutathione injections and now her veins pulsed with an unsteady energy. Something was wrong with her.

Then it happened. The first tremor hit like a seismic shudder that rattled her bones. Sylvia clung to the edge of the counter, her vision narrowing.

The second tremor was worse, almost like a tempest within her skull.

By the third one, the world tilted. Sylvia stumbled, her limbs flailing, as she fell into the tub of liquid nitrogen. The cold embraced her like a lover, crystallizing her dreams and freezing her into a fragile sculpture of ambition.

Evelyn took a minute standing right at the door, letting the nitrogen have its way. She should have told her that Lydia was missing and everyone was at the school auditorium for that, right?
Never mind. She pulled out the list of her ingredients.
Brown Sugar.

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