Chapter 1 - Day One

“Besties”


Chapter 1
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz Night 0>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz 


A long, winding road curls its way up a set of rolling hills; decorated immaculately with marble statuary and well-tended hedges; twisting not just as a result of the topography, but specifically to give a scenic drive through well-maintained opulence. Thus was the road leading to the Beckinridge estate, sitting atop those hills, at a great vantage; upon which one could look down upon the city below, under the cover of a starlit sky.


Looking down upon that city was the sole heir to the Beckinridge fortune; a woman bitterly staring out the window. Liz Beckinridge was a proud woman; her family came from old money - something her parents used to spoil her positively rotten. Anything she could want for in this life was already bought and paid for. Toys as a child, clothes as a teen, more clothes as she moved into adulthood… Even friendship and popularity was just as easy as dropping a few hundred bucks on what her friends could want. She was rich, and she was amicable - what more could people want?


It’s fair to say Liz was rather used to getting her way. Winning class president, getting ahead on the cheerleading squad; ah, the cheerleading squad. The amount of medals she won for her high school could fill up a trophy case on their own. Sure, she thinks - her team had a part in the victories she led them to, but everybody knew who the real shining star was. Proud as she was of a great deal of things - her wealth, her fashion, her status, and her long trail of broken hearts - her cheerleading career was among her proudest achievement. Like most things in her life, she’d never had a meaningful threat to it.


Until now, she thinks bitterly. Liz’s eyes turn from the city, to her reflection in the window - she can see herself; see the bitter look on her face. The ugly look on her face. She tears herself away from the window; not wanting to look at it. She wasn’t supposed to look ugly - she was supposed to be beautiful at all times. The most beautiful, if she had anything to say about it. The one that threatened her cheerleading career, her otherwise-unmatched beauty - at least to her own eyes - and her social standing was none other than Heather. Thinking of her name alone almost sent Liz into a fit. 

Liz arrived at her university two years ago; ever since she set foot on campus, she felt every bit like it was an extension of her high school experience. People still flocked to her; well, they mostly flocked to her money, but she was sweet enough that people were fine with her as-is. She was still a star of the cheerleading team, still a good enough student, still a gal that could get damn near anything she wanted with a flash of a smile - and failing that, credit card…


And then, a nobody comes from bumfuck nowhere and starts turning heads. She’s sweet. She’s smart. She’s talented, and worst of all, she was a damn good cheerleader on top of it! When Liz looked at Heather, she didn’t see much. She didn’t put too much effort into her looks, or her grades, or her cheerleading, but she still did too damn well! People still liked her - and terrifyingly to Liz, they liked her better than they liked Liz! 


Perhaps the only thing keeping Liz from fading into irrelevance and obscurity was the fact that Heather was pretty fond of her too - and she damn well should be, Liz thinks bitterly. She and Heather were… ‘Friends’. They spoke pretty often, they went out together, they practiced cheerleading together - nobody made any moves on the other, but Liz couldn’t stand her. Moreover, she couldn’t stand the fact that she couldn’t just be rid of Heather; that she had to keep playing this game of keeping up appearances. She couldn’t just pay her friends off, or spread a nasty rumor, or blackmail Heather - frankly speaking, she’d tried digging into her past in an attempt to get some material to do so, but she came up empty-handed. Heather was just a sweetheart from a small town in the countryside; no dirt to be found. It made Liz sick.


And it made her feel ugly. She walks over to a nearby mirror, daring face herself again. Her stenciled-on eyebrows were knit into a harsh furrow, and her pink-painted lips were curled into a frown. Liz sighs softly, trying to recompose herself - and from there, she forces a wide, toothy smile to the mirror. Now that was the Liz she was used to seeing. One thing among many for her to be proud of were her looks - something she’s put a considerable amount of effort into. Normally fair-skinned, her skin seemed kissed by the sun; a result more of some rather pricey fake tan than anything else. She wore her makeup somewhat thickly, but then again, she thought it complimented her looks well; dark eyeshadow and mascara to compliment her voluminous eyelashes and her inviting, teddy bear-like brown eyes, as well as a nice, glossy coat of pink lipstick. There wasn’t a hint of any sort of blemish on her face - she knew as much, because of how thoroughly she hunts for them.


Sparing a moment on a bit of healthy narcissism placates her, and allows for the scantest bit of sincerity to seep into her smile. “Tch,” she clicks her tongue. “I don’t have time to stress over that little slut.” She rubs her forehead, shaking her head. “That’s how you get crow’s feet…” she reminds herself. 


Even if she was feeling better, though, she wasn’t exactly feeling good. She wasn’t just fixating on how much Heather pissed her off for no reason; today, she felt personally slighted. They were out shopping for shoes - on her dime, no less - and Liz had been trying out shoes; she had the misfortune of picking up a size seven and a half instead of her normal size eights. Having trouble fitting into them Heather made a joke about Liz having man feet. Sure - Liz laughed it off then and there, but now, it was burning a hole of frustration in her gut. What the hell kind of a thing was that to say? Liz realized it was a petty thing to get mad about; but goddamn if it didn’t piss her off. 

“Tch,” she clicks her tongue again, catching herself before she starts to brood again. “fucking - ugh. Man feet. I’ll show her fuckin’ man feet when I shove my size eight right up her-” She stops herself - softly uttering “Crow’s feet, Liz, crow’s feet…” as she makes her way away from her window. She needed to calm herself down; she needed to chill out a little. 


As she walks through her house, her new heels click and echo through the venerable mansion; it’s deathly quiet beyond her musings. Her father was an anthropologist -  he found great joy in sampling the local flavors of more obscure corners of the great, wide world; and his work often left Liz alone with her mother… And her mother usually just left her alone in the house. It didn’t make for much comfort, but it made for some pretty sick house parties, she thinks. Beyond that, her father had a habit of bringing things back with him - baubles, trophies, odds and ends that just looked like junk to Liz. Even for as big of a house as they had; even if the walls were coated with these ‘artifacts’, a good portion of them were relegated to the basement - their various crates and display cases made a veritable maze through the house’s sub-level.


Liz soon arrived at the entrance to the maze - she had business down here, in one of the few corners of the basement not completely dominated by her father’s stuff. In preparation for and anticipation of a new bounty of accolades and trophies from her college cheerleading career, Liz emptied out her old trophy case - tossing all her old stuff down into the dark. The first two years hadn’t exactly rewarded her with much, by her standards; enough that looking at the mostly-empty trophy case made her even more fearful and frustrated with Heather lumbering into her territory. Just taking a gander at her old stuff might put her in a better headspace, she reasons.


To get to her boxes, she has to weave through her fathers’. With as much shit as he left down here, it got downright claustrophobic trying to navigate through it all. At the very least, it was well-lit. Eventually, Liz came to a rather neat stack of cardboard boxes - her own. She easily pierces the tape holding one of them shut with one of her long, pink nails - she never used to grow her nails out terribly much; not until the other gals on the cheer squad started making a big deal about Heather’s. “Hmph. All that bitch did was paint ‘em red.” she grumbles bitterly, fishing out one of her trophies. 


A bright, golden trophy gleamed in the basement’s lights - reflecting a wide smile on Liz’s face… Until a stormy look begins to cross it. She got this trophy in sophomore year, when her team went to nationals - on her skill, she mentally asserts. Julie broke her leg falling off the pyramid; they still won, but instead of rightfully celebrating how well Liz did, they held a little pity party for poor Julie. “Boo-hoo.” she grumbles, dropping the trophy back into the cardboard box with a sharp clang. Shit, and here she thought she’d improve her mood by reminiscing; not worsen it. 


Hasty to abandon her prior pursuit, she hastily steps away from her boxes - only to bump against one of her father’s displays. “Shit!” Twirling around, Liz fumbles to wrap her arms around something she can barely see - only as things go still does she realize what she’s holding. 


One arm curls around a semispherical glass cover, while the other is wrapped around a rather small table - upon which the cover sits. Half tilted over, its contents rest on the side of the cover, looking curiously up to her. It seemed to be a… Doll. It was made from rather simple, hempen fabric with fine stitches; the only signs of age on the thing were a few errant stains on the otherwise-clean material. It captured only the basest of human anatomy - a simple, rounded head, with two flat arms and two flat legs. 


Liz can’t help but sneer at it. “Why the hell would dad keep junk like this?” she grunts, setting the display upright, allowing the doll to flop back down onto the wooden base. She looks around the base herself, until she spies a simple bronze plaque. ‘“Voodoo” doll, LA, USA’ it read. If he was skeptical about what it was, why take it? Liz removes the glass cover and picks the thing up, turning it around in her hands. “Hmph. I’d love to stick a few pins in this and see if it hurts Heather.” she jokes, chuckling for a moment.


Then, she stops. Slowly, a smile creeps across her pink lips. “I think,” she murmurs to herself. “I found out how I’m gonna calm down tonight.” 


It takes less than a minute for her to Google ‘how to voodoo doll??’ and come up with something scarcely resembling a helpful guide. If she was gonna waste her time fucking with some pseudomagic, then she was gonna make sure she was doing it right. Or, as close to right as magic got. Close enough for her to feel satisfied - that’s what all of this was about, after all: satisfaction.


Liz marches back up to her room, lobbing the doll haphazardly onto her bed. She exits - and a moment later, comes back carrying a handful of tools. Like a surgeon preparing his instruments for a particularly-invasive surgery, Liz lays out a few items, encircling the doll almost damningly. First, a hairbrush - evidently well-used, given it still had a few hairs on it. Second, a sewing kit. Third, a photo - an honest-to-god physical picture. Liz didn’t know anyone over the age of forty who still bothered with them; but, evidently, Heather cared enough to keep the dying medium alive. 


The picture itself showed Liz and Heather side-by-side, smiling for the ever-so-dated camera. Looking upon Heather, Liz could admit that she was… Worthy of envy. While Liz prided herself on being beautiful - the most beautiful, if she had anything to say about - Heather was… Pretty. She was cute; sweet, and had a nice, sincere smile. While Liz slaved away at maintaining her beauty, it came to Heather effortlessly. Her body was pretty curvy; curvier than Liz’s, before she got implants. Her face was sparsely decorated with freckles - a blemish Liz herself would’ve fought tooth-and-nail to hide. Heather’s hair was a sandy blonde color, and tied back into a ponytail. “That bitch isn’t even a natural blonde.” Liz grumbles, looking away from the picture. She knew Heather lightened her hair - given, Liz did the same, to be blonder than Heather, but that was beside the point.


Taking a pair of scissors, she begins to cut Heather’s face out of the picture. She ties a few pieces of string to it, and slowly entwines them into the doll’s head, leaving the brightly-smiling Heather staring back from the doll’s head. After that, she slices open backs of the doll’s ankles - she had a plan that’d put her momentary concerns to rest. Gutting one of her teddy bears for some extra stuffing, she begins to pack the doll’s feet full of the stuff, swelling them up a little. “Who’s got man feet now, Heather?” she spits, sewing the doll’s legs back up. As a finishing touch - part of the ‘magical’ advice she’d gotten - she plucks one of the darker strands of hair from the hairbrush. Heather had left hers over, when she’d slept over recently - while Liz thought it was a bother at first, she was rather glad that it worked out in her favor now. Slowly, she uses a needle to thread the hair into the doll; putting a little piece of her intended target into it. 


When all was said and done, Liz looked at the doll with a sense of… Satisfaction. Heather pissed her off; and now, she had a little vent for all of her Heather-related frustrations. It was a little… Well, it was totally childish, but as long as it made her happy, Liz wasn’t about to complain. For effect, she jabs the doll a couple times in the ass with her sewing needle. With a coy grin, she chucks the doll into a drawer in her desk. There was no need to keep something like that out in the open, after all. 


“Ah…” Liz yawns, smacking her lips. “What the hell time is it, anyway?” She’d lost track of time while she was brooding - and while she remained fixated in the past, time around her marched on. She tosses her sewing kit into her desk drawer with the doll, resolving to put it back where it belongs tomorrow. It was already late - and she needed to get her beauty sleep.


Chapter 2
Liz>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather Day 1>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather


Rays of sunlight flit through shuttered blinds, landing gently and warmly upon closed eyelids. The eyelids twitch and furrow, slowly opening, revealing cool pools of blue to the waking world one more. Slowly, their owner sits up in bed; evoking a soft creak from the rickety frame. 


“Mmh.” she groans, letting the distortion of sleep work its way out of her eyes, and the grog slowly begin to lift from her head, before looking at herself in the mirror opposite her bed. 


Yep, she was still Heather alright. 


Heather throws herself out of bed, and immediately notices something was off. Hopping off of her mattress, she couldn’t help but rub her rear through her pajama pants - her ass was killing her. “Mmh, shitty… Dorm mattress…” she grumbles, still half asleep. She could worry about her sore ass later, she figures - for now, she had to get ready for class.


As she runs through her normal routine, she passes her mirror - each time, looking a little more presentable. She walks to one side of her room, and her eyes shed the half-lidded look of someone who’s met a rude awakening. She walks to the other side, toothbrush in her mouth and bottle of mouthwash in-hand. She walks back, showered and clean. She walks back again, in the middle of tying back her hair with her favorite red scrunchie - and then she stops in front of the mirror. Pulling out a rather small drawer on her little vanity, she pulls out a tube of eyeliner and lipstick. 


Staring at herself in the mirror, she puts on a smile - one she always liked greeting the day with. Whenever she looked at herself in the mirror, she liked to be at her happiest; that’s how she always liked other people to see her. After giving herself the faintest hint of eyeliner, and a single coat of lipstick, her makeup goes back into its tiny little drawer. Her friends always bugged her to try and doll herself up a little more - Liz especially - but she never felt the need for it. As far as she was concerned, her makeup was… Tasteful. She never wanted to look like a hooker, or a clown… Or a hooker clown. Her smile curls as she starts to snicker at the mental image. 


Hastily, Heather throws on a t-shirt and jeans; she didn’t feel like particularly dressing up today. Somehow, she thinks, she could count on Liz to dress up for the both of them. As much as she loved Liz, Heather thinks, she really needed to take a break dressing like a supermodel. Given, she could afford to, but still.


Heather was tempted to grab her sneakers before she heads out - but, she remembers the shoes Liz picked up for her yesterday. Liz had tempted her to get a strappy pair of heels, but… Well, Heather always preferred something she’d get a little more daily use out of. She opted for a pair of casual flats, which were sitting by the door, ready and rearing for her to put them on. She didn’t think much of what her other friends would think of them - but she wanted to show Liz how much she appreciated the gift. 


Pulling them out of the box, Heather could tell that something was… A little off. Lining her foot up with their mouth, everything looked a little… Disproportionate, but she couldn’t quite place it. Were the shoes smaller than she remembered, or were her feet…? “Eheh, no.” Heather answers her own question. Checking the size on the box, they still read seven-and-a-half. If that was right, then what did she have to worry about?


Apparently, she had something to worry about. Trying to stuff her feet into the shoe was like trying to fit a square peg in a round hole. As soon as she got her toes in, they felt cramped; and trying to force any more in just made the shoe bulge unflatteringly. While she did try to force it - adding to her discomfort; alongside her still-dully-throbbing rear - ultimately, all she ended up with was a sore foot. 


“Man, I hope Liz still has the receipt for these.” she grumbles, rubbing the back of her head. It wasn’t like they picked out the wrong size - trying on the seven-and-a-halfs at the store, they felt pretty comfy; if a little roomy. Did some asshole switch them with sevens - or sixes, or something? Whatever the case, she had to be a shoe size or two too big for them. Part of her felt a little disappointed she wouldn’t get to show Liz that she was wearing them… But, well, there wasn’t much she could do. 


Tentatively, Heather holds one foot close to her. Were they bigger? Or- swollen, for some reason? Maybe it was her mind playing a trick on her, but she could almost swear they were larger. “Man, did I eat a bowl of stupid for breakfast?” she grumbles, getting up and grabbing her sneakers. Surely, she thinks - she’s overthinking it.


As soon as she tries on her sneakers, she realizes she might not be overthinking it. Usually her sneakers were pretty snug on her - comfortably, of course - but now, it felt just the same as when she was trying to squeeze her feet into the new shoes. “Okay, this is a little fucked.” She lays her sneakers down, placing one of her feet next to them - she could see that they were considerably larger than the sneakers. For as much as she’d examined her feet already, she could tell that they looked… Normal; not too reddened or puffy or anything like that, but at the same time, her shoes were telling her that they were anything but normal. 


“I need to see a doctor.” she resolves with a long sigh. Almost defeated, she heads into her closet, pulling out a pair of velcro sandals - they were always a little big on her feet before, but now… They were just about the right size. She wiggles her toes on the sandals’ rubbery bottoms - silently thankful that she had a few more weeks of summer left. If this had happened during the winter, she’d have no idea what to do. 


With that, she stuffs her new shoebox into her backpack and heads out the door. Heather was normally a pretty attentive student - even in some of the more soporific lectures, she managed to stay cognizant enough to pick up what others might sleep through. Today, however, she felt… Distracted. She wasn’t really the sickly type; so for her to suddenly contract something - let alone something that would blow her feet up like a pair of balloons - was rather abnormal. Moreover, she wasn’t a self-conscious type - but if her feet were swollen, she couldn’t help but worry if others could notice. As far as errant blemishes, it was a rather embarrassing one.


When her classes got out, the first thing she does is text Liz - she was about ready to get lunch anyway, and if anybody would… Er, understand her predicament, it was probably her. After a few minutes of sitting along the edge of the campus dining hall, Heather spotted her friend working her way through the crowd. She waves Liz over with one hand, and starts digging in her backpack for the shoes with her other.


Liz wore a small smile as she approached - but as she got closer, it turned into a frown. Rather than any sort of greeting or pleasantry, the first thing out of her mouth is a disappointed “You aren’t wearing the new shoes.”


Shit - Heather expected as much. When someone had as fashion-oriented a mind as Liz, she supposed she couldn’t expect something like that to fly by her. “It’s a long story.” Heather explains, placing the box on the table. 


“Well, I’ve always got time to listen to you, bestie.” Liz finds a seat opposite Heather, tossing one leg over the other. Heather can feel the faintest hint of a blush working its way onto her befreckled cheeks.


“Something’s wrong with me. I’ve got some sorta infection or something, and it’s causing me to swell up. That, and… I think we might’ve grabbed the wrong size. Or the wrong size was put in the right box, or… Something. I-”


Liz holds a hand up - there’s an odd look on her face; an odd mix of humor and surprise. “So, they don’t fit?” she asks. 


“That’s the long and short of it, yeah.” Heather says with a shrug. “I mean, yesterday they were fine - you saw it, when we were tryin’ them on, but I guess somewhere along the line, they got mixed up, or I caught a bug, or...”


Liz chuckles a little. “Or you just have man feet.” The look on her face says she’s expecting a reaction. 


Heather just looks at her blankly. “Or that, I guess.” she sighs. “I’m going to the clinic after this - see if they have some sorta advice, or drug or something.” She slides the shoebox over the table to Liz. “But, better safe than sorry - I’d rather return these. We can do another shopping trip when I’m not stompin’ around like bigfoot, okay?” She cocks a goofy grin, one that Liz returns. 


“Gotcha.” Liz says, looking pleased as punch. She tosses the box in her own backpack. After a moment, she holds up a well-manicured finger. “If you’re sick…” she begins. “I don’t think it’d be just a case of swollen feet. Anything else bothering you? Aches, pains…”


Heather could swear that Liz suspected something - maybe there was a weird ache, pain, and foot swelling bug going around? “Well, my ass hurt a little this morning, but that was probably from my bed.” She grins, leaning over the table. “We don’t all sleep on thousand-dollar mattresses, after all.”


Liz… Just smiles. “Well, maybe we can go mattress shopping next time.” she chuckles out, standing up. “I don’t wanna keep you from heading to the clinic - and I’ve got a thing, anyway.” she explains. “Tell me how it goes, ‘kay? If you don’t, I might be up a~all night worrying about you.” 


Heather leans back, chuckling. “Well, far be it from me to interrupt your beauty sleep. I’ll keep in touch.”


Chapter 3
Heather>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz Night 1>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz


“Doc says to wrap them in ice packs for the night, to see if the swelling goes down.” Liz recites off of her phone, her lips curling into a knowing grin. “That swelling ain’t goin’ down, bitch.” Unceremoniously, Liz tosses her phone onto her bed, where it bounces past her eviscerated teddy bear. 


Another lonesome night at home turned into a night of mixed confusion and unbridled joy. Somehow, Liz thinks, her petulant little outburst last night had some… Highly-desired, but ultimately unsuspected consequences. Liz wasn’t a superstitious woman - she didn’t actually expect fucking around with a voodoo doll to warrant any actual effects; hell, the site she got her instructions from was some mid-90’s html page covered in shitty fire .gifs. 


Yet, here she was - she stuffed the doll’s feet, and poked it in the ass - and Heather suffered the same effects. No, better yet - Heather suffered. Liz opened her drawer again, pulling out her sewing supplies, and then the doll - but as she grabs it, she yelps; dropping it onto her desk.


The doll had changed. No longer did it have a flat figure; no longer did it have a picture tied to its face, but it… Looked every bit like a doll made to resemble Heather; however crudely. Its hempen construction remained the same, but its figure was… More defined. More feminine. Its arms looked the same, but now, its legs had two defined - if somewhat large - feet sticking out of them. Most of all, its head had changed; gold yarn composed its hair, tied back into a ponytail with red string. Two blue buttons formed its eyes, and it wore a wide, stitched smile - just like the woman it represented.


Okay, Liz thinks - this magic bullshit was helping her out, but it was seriously creeping her out too. She half-expected the doll to get up and start moving… But mercifully it didn’t. She picks it up and sets it in front of her, brandishing a needle. She didn’t see a doll in front of her, as she looked it over - she saw Heather. Cute, sweet little Heather; the new hotness, the endearing sweetheart… The threat to everything Liz wanted. Having that poor girl at her mercy like this… It was thrilling. This was her ticket to success - this was how she cut Heather out of the picture. 


This was how she’d humiliate the bitch who thought she could step into her court.


If Heather wasn’t a fan of her new feet - then Liz would just have to make some improvements. Cutting open the doll’s feet again, Liz makes sure to pack a little bit more stuffing into them - she’d be lucky if anything in her wardrobe would be able to fit her now. Lucky for her, Liz thinks with a titter, she had a plan for that. She tears her eyes away from the doll to look over to her door - she’d returned the shoes at Heather’s behest - but made sure to pick up something a little more… Fitting.


Turning her attention back to the doll, she turns it over. The shoe store was just one of her after-school stops - she also made sure to stop by an arts and crafts store. If she was going to be remodeling this doll, she wanted to make sure she’d have all sorts of tools. The first thing she does is stitch a big heart into the doll’s back, with pink string - she couldn’t exactly tear into the doll’s head to mess around with Heather’s - so she figures this was the next best option. Fishing around in her bags of supplies, she pulls a bag of little pins out; filled with assorted designs. She’d been on the fence about picking up this one in particular, but when she saw one of the designs, she just knew she had to buy it.


The design was, quite simply, of a foot. Heather’s innocent little joke was the straw that broke the camel’s back, in regards to Liz’s frustrations - and Liz made sure that she’d make it damn her. She pins the little metal foot in place in the heart; followed by a little female symbol next to it. There was still plenty of room in there - looking at the mostly-empty heart made Liz buzz with excitement. She picks the doll up and turns it over; as she does, its ponytail whips around. 


“Hmph. I should cut that fucking thing off…” she grumbles, reaching for her scissors… But she stops herself just short of doing so. Instead, she’s taken by a strange urge. This doll was magic - she didn’t know the extent of it, but it had to be worth… Experimenting with. She takes the doll into the bathroom, and turns on the sink. Tentatively, she pushes the doll’s hair into the stream of water. To her surprise, the water seems to bead up and roll off of it… But it takes something with it. Little flecks of gold fall off of the yarn, dissipating before they hit the sink’s basin. By the time Liz turns the water off, the doll’s hair was brown - Heather’s natural shade. 


“Fucking… Creepy.” she murmurs, turning the doll over again. “But cool.” Bringing the doll back to her room, she keeps looking at the hair - formulating an idea in her head. “She can get away with wearing plenty of stuff in the summer…” Liz murmurs. “Sandals, shorts, bikinis…” The lattermost brings to mind a distinct memory of her friends saying how great Heather looked in a bikini - without a single mention of how good Liz looked. She squeezes the doll firmly. “Not anymore.” she snorts, tossing the doll back down onto her desk.


Liz silently thanks her high school home ec teacher as she puts her long-forgotten skill in needlework to use - she places bits and pieces of string along her legs; even a few strands under her arms and on her feet. “Let’s see ya rock a bikini now, cave-girl.” Liz spits, dropping her needle back into her kit before closing it up. As she’s putting the kit away, she looks back at the doll. She… Was messing with Heather’s body - and, given, that was greatly satisfying… But a thought crossed her mind. 


Wouldn’t it be fun if Heather messed with her own body? Heather looks around on her admittedly-somewhat-cluttered desk - she reaches for an old drink umbrella sticking out of one of her penholders; she snaps it in half, and sticks the sharp end into her mouth. Pulling a strip of matches out of her purse - she had a habit of taking them from bars - she lights one up and smolders the end of the doll’s makeshift smoke. 

Liz snidely looks down on the doll, cooing “That’s a pretty nasty habit, bestie.” Careful not to disturb the doll’s new accessories, she gently places it in the drawer with her newest tools of torture. “I hope you make the best of it.”