Chapter 2 - Day Two


Chapter 4
Liz>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather Day 2>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Heather


Sunlight once more flits into Heather’s dorm room, but this time, even as it passes by her eyelids, they remain static; shut. Time slowly passes, and the sun’s rays move onward - until a harsh rapping begins to echo through the room. 


Heather snorts as she jolts awake, slowly sitting up. The first thing she notices is how cool her feet are - not to mention cramped. It takes a moment or two before solid thoughts begin to crystallize from the soupy mire of her groggy thoughts - she recalls that she followed her doctor’s orders before bed, wrapping her feet in a pair of soft ice packs - but she didn’t remember wrapping them up so tight. 


The knocking comes again, forcing her to call out “Just a minute!” Rubbing sleep from her eyes, she looks across the room at her vanity.


Yep, she was still Heather… But something was different. She squints at the mirror, allowing her eyes to focus - and she could tell that her hair was a few shades darker than normal.


Well, her hair was normal - that was a problem. Usually she lightened it; and it took a long time to wear off. She runs a hand through it; mussing it up beyond how messy it already is. It felt fine, but… What the hell?


“Heather!” a voice calls from the other side of her door - Liz. What the hell was she doing here? “You u~up?”


Shit - she hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet; and she was about to face one of her most fashion-conscious friends. “Yeah, thanks to you!” she calls back. “Gimmie a sec, I’m not feelin’ so good.”


“A~aww.” Liz coos from the other side of the door. “Well, I brought you a little something that might help with your…” She pauses. “Problem, if it’s still bothering you. Take your time getting ready - I’ll just leave it at the door. Text me after class, ‘kay?”


Heather could hear the staccato clicking of heels working their way away from her door after that. She can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. Slowly, she eases herself out of bed - she didn’t feel as sore as she did yesterday, but she felt… A little off. Like her head was in a funk. The first thing she did was slide the ice packs off of her feet - the packs themselves felt lukewarm, but her feet felt deathly cold. 


Heather balks as she looks at them. Perhaps yesterday, she could’ve feasibly passed off her feet as looking normal; but today was a different story entirely. She could tell, just from a passing glance, that they were a hell of a lot bigger. They had to be about three sizes up from normal - and more disturbingly, as she runs a hand across them, she could feel bristly stubble on the top of her foot, and on her toes. Swelling, she could excuse as some weird injury or sickness - but hair? That had no explanation - same as the altered tone of the hair on her head. 


“Okay,” she whispers, releasing her foot. “this is pretty fucked. But, there’s gotta be an explanation for this; stuff like this doesn’t just… Happen.” She explains, standing up and preparing to go about her morning ritual. 


The look of befuddlement on her face never passes, as she walks past her mirror, on her way to the bathroom. When she reaches her destination, she gives a dull groan of frustration. Running her hand across her legs, where she knows there should be smooth skin, she meets stubble. It’s the same story between her legs; beneath her arms, as well. “O-okay,” she murmurs shakily. “s-so it’s a hormone thing. I’ve been eating a lot of red meat lately; who knows, maybe there’s a weird amount of hormones in my body and it’s freaking out and…” Heather sighs. “That’s bullshit and I know it.” Something weird was up - and she didn’t know what. 


It took exponentially longer showering today than it did yesterday; she took a razor to everything she could and made sure she wouldn’t look like she was a sasquatch coming out of hibernation, today. She didn’t bother with her proper hair today, either - if anyone asked, she reasoned, she’d say she was going natural for a while. Besides; there wasn’t really anything wrong with her natural shade - lightening her hair was just a personal preference. 


Checking her phone, she could tell that she was already running late. Even worse, she knew damn well her sandals wouldn’t fit her. She could explain her hair - but she couldn’t explain going barefoot to class, especially with her… 


Liz’s words echo in her head. ‘Man feet’. She looks down, flexing her larger toes on the wooden floor of her dorm. “Shit.” Well, at least Liz said she had something to help. Opening her door, she finds a plastic bag hanging on her doorknob. She hastily pulls it in, feeling how… Surprisingly heavy it was. The first thing she pulls out from it was a shoebox - the source of the weight. It came from the same boutique they went to the other day; and a sticky note on the top said, in Liz’s handwriting, ‘This was the largest thing they had :c Hope they fit!’ Well, that was… Surprisingly thoughtful of her!


Heather was excited as she opened the box, and when she did… She regretted getting excited in the first place. Instead of flats, sneakers, or any sort of… Conventional shoe, Heather found a pair of black work boots. True to Liz’s words, they looked pretty big. Turning one over, Heather winces as she looks at the size - ten-and-a-half. 


With a sigh, Heather slides one of them on. For the first time since yesterday, she doesn’t find a struggle waiting for her as she slides her toes into the boot - in fact, when she finally comes to rest, her feet feel positively snug; in the same sense that her sneakers had been just two days earlier. As she lifts her boot-clad foot up, she thrums. “Not the best thing to wear in the middle of a heatwave.” When she puts her boot down, it lands with a loud stomp, making Heather jump. She’d have to tread lightly, when she was walking around in these. 


She’s about to toss the plastic bag away when she finds a couple things still rattling around in it. Fishing around inside, she finds her hand wrapping around something rather unfamiliar. Heather pulls out a… Pack of cigarettes and a zippo lighter. “What the hell?” she murmurs, turning then over in her hand. She didn’t smoke - and Liz knew that. She’d never really cleared up if Liz was or wasn’t a smoker - but with as much as she loved her pearly-whites, Heather doubted it. “Hhhuh. Must be hers, I guess.”


Heather checks her phone again - shit, class had already been going on for ten minutes and she hadn’t even left. Well; better late than never - and she could always talk to her professor and explain that she… Was experiencing sudden onset foot growth, her hair was rejecting her lightening methods, and she was suddenly growing growing body hair. 


Sure, that explained her situation pretty well, but somehow she figured telling the professor she got a stomach bug might go over a little better. Heather tosses the pack of smokes and lighter into her backpack - next time she runs into Liz, she’d have to toss it her way. 


Given that it was pretty damned hot outside, Heather was glad she managed to take care of the sudden… Growth - if she couldn’t throw on something light and breathable, she’d be baking in the late-summer heat. She slips on a pair of shorts and a tank top - the heaviest thing about her wardrobe, for the moment, has to be her boots; not just in terms of thickness, but in sheer weight as well. She winces when she takes her first few steps outside - the stomping sound the boots make echo through the dorm halls, making her shrink as she finds her way out.


The sun beats down on the campus imperiously - even worse, the wind is still and the air is humid. Beyond academics, most people are keen to get to their classes for the promise of air conditioning. Given that most classes were already in session, Heather was largely alone as she walked through the campus’ footpaths - trying to find shade in the trees, which had yet to shift into their autumnal colors. She walks at a brisk pace - as briskly as her constrictive boots would allow. Yet, as she hears a shout nearby, she freezes.


“Piss!” a harsh, throaty voice barks, followed by a harsh crack. Heather spies the top half of a cheap lighter skidding across the blacktop, past her feet. She follows its path up to a pile of shattered plastic on the ground - and from there, to the person who broke it.


Even if the campus was pretty big, some faces tended to stand out in the crowds - one among them was that of Zelda Nightingale. Her name acted as a testament to just what a person she was; a deliberate standing - given that nobody really knew if it was her real name, or if it was just one she made for herself. 


Anyone could pick Zelda out of a crowd - powdered; alabaster-toned face, dark makeup, lots of piercings, and a harsh side-cut of raven black hair spilling down past her breasts; naturally on one side alone. The first time Heather saw her was the first time she’d ever seen somebody with snakebite piercings before - she still remembered how bad she imagined the pain of getting a piercing like that; to say nothing of the gauges in her ears or the stud in her nose. She wore a black tank top and a pair of studded jeans; hot as the latter looked, Heather wondered why the woman’s makeup wasn’t running. 


More than being notable for her look, she was notable for… Well, being the subject of rumors. Heather honestly couldn’t recall hearing a single nice thing about her - and one of the folks she heard the most about her from was Liz. All manner of deviance, delinquency, and debaucherousness swirled around Zelda like a dark cloud - and her rather aggressive and uncaring demeanor didn’t do much to dispel any of it. She was an outcast - enough to make Heather feel a little bad for her, but not so much that she wasn’t afraid of her.


Zelda’s ebony-painted lips curl into a sneer around a cigarette, and her greyish-blue eyes glare down at the pile of smashed green plastic. She looks up to Heather, and her expression seems to soften a little - snapping from fury to stoicism on a dime. “Fuckin’ thing ran out of juice.” she excuses, as though continuing an ongoing conversation. She unceremoniously kicks the plastic, scattering it across the blacktop. Tilting her head, she calmly muses “Got a light?”


“I don’t smoke.” Heather blurts out instinctually. Zelda opens her mouth to say something, but Heather snaps to correct herself. “Wait- but, I-... I do, just…”


Zelda cocks a brow, holding a hand on her hip as Heather digs around in her backpack. She pulls out the zippo lighter, showing it off to the woman. It puts a smile on her dark, pierced lips. “Huh. Fancy lighter for someone who doesn’t smoke.” she says as she steps forward.


Heather feels like she’s trembling - sure, Zelda made her uncomfortable… But there was no reason to fear her… Was there? She knew a lot of people did, at least. Zelda wasn’t built tough; in fact, Heather noted, she had a pretty nice figure - a sudden thought that gives her a sudden flash of heat. In any case - she didn’t look like she could snap a gal like Heather in half; but her demeanor suggested that she… Would be more than willing to try. Zelda gets close, and Heather flicks open the lighter, holding it out before her. “I don’t smoke.” she asserts shakily. 


Rather than lean down and meet the flame, Zelda wraps her hands around Heather’s - bringing the lighter up to the cigarette hanging from her lips. Her fingers feel… Weirdly cold. Her nails are pretty short; painted stark black - apparently the dark woman’s favorite color. She doesn’t immediately release Heather’s hand, even after she’s lit up - but far be it from Heather to make her. With deft ease, she rolls the cigarette to the corner of her mouth, smiling. “Sure ya don’t.” she mumbles, blowing smoke in her face. 


While she winces, the smoke doesn’t cause Heather much discomfort. Finally, Zelda releases her, and she’s free to shut the lighter. She’s tempted to say something snide - ‘You’re welcome’, or something along those lines - but she didn’t want to tempt fate. 


Zelda pulls the cigarette from her lips, then gives Heather a smokey wave goodbye. “See ya ‘round. Maybe ya won’t piss your pants the next time ya see me.” With that, she walks away - leaving Heather… Greatly confused, as she watches her sashay away. She could certainly tell how asynchronous Zelda was, and how such a demeanor could doubtlessly get on folks’ nerves - but she was… Amicable enough. 


“Piss my pants. Hmph.” she grumbles. She stuffs the lighter back into her bag, and her hand brushes up against the cigarettes - for just a moment, she’s… Tempted. She’d never been before - but then again, she’d spent the past two days dealing with some pretty weird shit. Maybe a smoke would take the edge off? Maybe - maybe; but now she had to get to class.


Heather’s encounter with Zelda cost her a good amount of time on top of her existing deficit - she came in at the tail-end of the lecture, and barely had ten minutes to get a couple scribbles worth of notes down. When she talked to the professor, she told them about her ‘stomach’ bug - and for a moment, the professor was ready to believe her… But, she could tell that something tipped them off that something else was afoot… And not in a good way. When she noticed them sniffing the air - she could tell they smelled the smoke on her - she could already tell that they thought she skipped class to just faff around. 


Defeated, Heather trudges off to her next class. She felt the same cloud of distraction swirling around her head as yesterday - but it wasn’t just some sudden, borderline-excusable foot growth that was bothering her. She was getting hairier quicker than normal - and her hair just suddenly… Darkened. She couldn’t tell what the hell was up with that. She leans back in her seat and looks beneath her desk at her boots - flexing her toes inside their snug, stuffy, hot confines. Her feet were bigger still - not just bigger than her norm, but disproportionately so. Yet… As she looked down at the boots; conjuring a mental image of her swollen feet within, she recognized that she’s… Less concerned with how she feels about them, and more concerned with how others might look at them.


The realization is sobering - and frankly, more engaging than what her professor was talking about. She… Really didn’t care if she had huge feet, she guessed; she was bothered by the fact that she didn’t know why she did, and what others might say about her for having… Big feet. She leans forward again, supporting herself on her desk. Of course… What did it matter? She wasn’t that self-conscious of a person to begin with. She wasn’t Liz; who’d throw a fit if she got a pimple. Pimples, however, were normal - moreover, temporary. Once more flexing her toes, Heather recognized that her enlarged feed were neither normal nor temporary. The thought caused her to sigh - drawing the attention of the students sitting next to her. Snapping to attention, she picks up her pen and tries to draw her wandering mind back to the ongoing lecture.


By the time Heather exited class, she did so with a head mostly bereft of any meaningful information, and a notebook filled with anecdotes. She sighs, defeated - she’ll have to look up the professor’s presentation when she got back to her dorm, and study it there. At least she had some time with Liz to look forward to - she was in the middle of texting her to meet up, when Liz asked where she was.


It wasn’t like Liz to eagerly anticipate her - in fact, sometimes it was like pulling teeth just to get together. Heather sighs, holding her head. Was anything going to be normal, today? Heather was only a few steps into the dining hall when she noticed a hand stick up over the crowd, waving her over. When she saw Liz sitting nearby, she looked absolutely elated to see her… But, after a moment, that excitement seemed to die, replaced by… Confusion? Oh, Heather realizes - it must be her hair. 


Setting her bag down on one of the empty seats, Heather observes “You’ve got questions.” 


Liz snorts a little, bitterly mumbling “Boy do I.”


Heather takes a seat, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t know you were so attached to the color.”


“Hm?” Liz takes a moment to process the question - as if she didn’t expect it. She looks up to Heather’s hair, then downward. She puts on a smile, nodding her head. “Of course - we were like twinsies. What happened - found out that blondes have too much fun?”


“Would you believe me if I said I woke up like this?” Heather says - mostly to gauge her reaction. If she believed it…


“C’mon, Heather. I might be the natural blonde of the two of us, but I’m no bimbo.” Unsurprisingly, she didn’t. 


Heather laughs it off, shrugging. “Just making sure. Sometimes, I have trouble telling. Like…” She fishes out the pack of cigarettes, placing them on the table. “Times like this.”


Innocently, Liz holds her hands up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Those were for you.”


“For me?” Heather challenges. “You know I don’t-”


“Normally smoke.” Liz finishes. “Yeah, I know - again; not a bimbo, here. But, things’ve been pretty weird for you - so I thought a little abnormal might help!” 


Heather looks back at the pack of cigarettes - she can’t easily find a fault in her friend’s logic. “Well, I think I’ve had my daily dose of abnormal already. I ran into Zelda earlier.”


“Zelda?” Liz balks. “Where’d she hit you? Do I need a get a doll so you can tell me where she-”


Heather chuckles, holding her hands up. “Hey, hey - c’mon, she isn’t that bad.” 


Liz grins. “She’s still pretty bad.”


“I’m not arguing that.” She motions to the cigarettes. “Your little abnormal gift got me in a bit of an awkward spot.”


Liz leans over the table, smiling. “Did it?”


Heather picks up on her rapt fascination - astounded she’s so interested. “Yeah - don’t look so broken up about it, will you?” she jokes, rolling her eyes. “She needed a light, so I gave her one. In the… Weirdest way possible.”


“Well, you could’ve lied and said no. Besides, you don’t smoke, remember?”


Heather shrugs. “Yeah - but why lie?” She looks down for a moment, then to the side. “I mean, I didn’t, but I think she thinks I did.”


Liz tilts her head. “About having a light…?”


“About not smoking.”


Liz places a finger on the pack and slides it toward Heather. “Well, prove her wrong, then. I’m sure that’ll earn some points with your new bestie.” she says with a snide chuckle.


Heather grabs the pack and stuffs it back into her backpack. “What’s the matter, feeling threatened?”


Liz chuckles, shaking her head. “Not at all - not at all.”


As the two depart the table to grab food, Heather notices Liz looking at her clothes - it wasn’t an atypical thing for her to do, though. Even if she knew Liz was judging her fashion sense, she didn’t much care - it was hot out; some people cared for comfort more than they cared about brand, and Heather was one of them. As soon as they get back to their seat, Liz takes a seat next to Heather, and… Oddly enough, removes her shoes. She tosses one leg over the other, pointing it toward Heather - who can’t do much more than look… Confusedly down at her friend.


“You hot?” Heather asks. 


Liz looks up, smirking. “So kind of you to say.” Heather can’t help but roll her eyes.


“You know what I mean.” 


Liz… Sincerely didn’t. She cocks her brow, looking up, then down - then down to her feet. “Oh, you mean-” she begins, sounding… Flattered?


“Yeah, that. Never seen you do that before, so I’m just assuming…” 


Liz blinks. “... That I’m hot. Oh - oh.” Why did she sound so disappointed? Was it-


Trying to save the conversation from taking a nosedrive into awkwardness, Heather raises a hand. “Oh, did you, uh, get your toenails painted recently? It looks nice, it-” 


“No - no, don’t worry about it.” Liz replies; sighing her words out. “I’m just so sore today. I’m dying for a footrub.” Her words sound… Targeted, but Heather had no idea what she was leading up to.


Pursing her lips, Heather murmurs “Well, remember that mani-pedi place we went to over the summer? I’m sure they can take care of that. After we went, I felt like I was walkin’ on clouds for a month.”


Liz tilts her head, then nods. “I’ll have to see if I can get a booking in, then. Hm.”


Heather takes a small sip of her drink, and then-


“Did you shave today?”


-spits it back into her cup, coughing a little. “What?” she asks.


“It’s an innocent question, I swear!” Liz defends - Heather never thought it anything but innocent… Until she specified it. Now, Heather couldn’t help but wonder. “Your legs just looked really smooth, so I figured…”


Heather leans back in her chair, shaking her head. “Fuck - yeah; yeah, I did. I’m not gonna lie, just… That’s a weird thing to bring up.” As much as she hopes her nervous chuckling would help her recover the situation, she doesn’t feel any better.


“Hey - it’s a style thing. You know me.” Liz tries to defend. 


Heather nods. “Yeah, I do - and that isn’t something you usually ask.” Before they delve much further, Heather changes the subject. “Also - thanks for the boots.”


Liz is just as eager to hop to a new subject as Heather is. “Oh! Yeah, I hoped you’d like them. They were pretty clunky, so I didn’t know…”


“Hey, they work. That’s all I can ask for.” Heather says. “Doc’s advice didn’t work, anyway - they’re even bigger today, so the boots are a perfect fit.” She nudges Liz’s arm, chuckling. “Either that was a hell of a coincidence, or you’re psychic or something.”


Liz smirks, picking up her now-empty plate. “Would you believe me if I said I have voodoo powers?” she jokes.


Heather rolls her eyes. “Hey - I may have gone blonde for a while, but you know I’m no bimbo.”


Chapter 5
Heather>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz Night 2>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>Liz


Hastily, a Ferrari makes its way up the winding road to the Beckinridge estate, its tail lights drawing angry red streaks in the night. Its revving engine sends bellowing roars down the hills, growing louder as it pulls into the enclosure of a garage. Even when it goes silent, a cry echoes out. 


“Fuck!” Liz shrilly barks, marching out of the garage and up the front steps of her home. “Shit!” 


Usually, driving back from classes made her feel better - she had the option to live in a rather cushy dorm; even a sorority if the urge struck her, and while it’d give her an easier commute to school, nothing quite beat the satisfaction of seeing all the heads turn when she pulled in or pulled out of the parking garage in her shiny red Ferrari. Technically, her father’s - but that was beside the point. 


Of course, few things were usual nowadays; both for her and sweet little Heather. Even the unusual elements she’d found were breaking their own rules of operation - in her mind, doing so just to spite her? Was it a means of limitation? Was it some sappy restriction that only the pure of heart could use this magic? Fuck no, she said - this was dark shit she was tangling with; curses, hexes, plagues - there should be no limit to what she could do with them!


Liz spent an hour and a half threading string into that fucking doll, and for what? A little bit of stubble that gets hacked off in a moment’s notice? She slaps on those pins, hoping it’ll give Heather a little fixation - but when she tries to probe that, all that happens is that she ends up looking like some freaky dyke hitting on her straight friend!  She returns the fucking shoes, buys the ugliest pair of boots she could find in that store - hoping they won’t fit - and it turns out she picked the perfect size.


“Oh,” Liz begins bitterly, marching up the stairs to her room. “I’m sorry, Heather, that was the biggest pair they had for women. Looks like we’re gonna have to shop in the men’s section.” Her tone dribbles venom - that was the line she’d planned on dropping when she got the supposedly-inevitable call from Heather that she had nothing to put on her man feet. 


Liz throws open the door to her room, and then yanks the doll out of its drawer. She picks it up with both hands and shouts “Why aren’t you working!?” at the tiny little thing. It hangs limply in her grip, flopping around as she shakes and throttles it. “You’re supposed to be fucking with Heather! Not just giving her a stray hair here and there - ” she explains - as if it could listen. She brings it closer to herself, her tone dropping - getting more soft; but more sinister the closer it gets. “you’re supposed to be turning into a freaky pervert dyke that loves foot shit. You’re supposed to stamp around on man feet, you’re supposed to be smoking whenever you can. You’re supposed to be hairier than a fucking grizzly bear.” Her lips almost press against the doll’s ear. “You’re supposed to wanna fucking prostrate yourself at my feet. Bow to the fucking goddess.” Liz shuts her eyes, shivering with anger. She takes a deep breath, then drops the doll, which falls limply onto her desk.  


Liz steeples her hands, bracing her fingers on the bridge of her nose. She takes a deep breath, terminating it with a harsh, ragged exhale - murmuring “Okay - okay...” as though a mantra, trying to bring her temper down. Failing that, to channel her temper into something less self-destructive and more Heather-destructive. 


“Maybe there is a limit.” she reasons, turning to look at the doll; face-down on her desk. “If it’s going to fuck me, then I just have to make sure I get as much shit done as possible before it cuts me off.” She grabs the doll by the ponytail and then places it on the desk, centering it with one hand and pulling out the sewing kit with the other. “Scorched earth, motherfucker.”


Liz hunches over the doll, looking at the pins on its back first. If just adding one pin for her desired fixations didn’t work, then more was obviously better. She pins two more female symbols and feet onto the doll’s back, and as she looks at the empty space… She wonders. There was so much more that could be done - she wanted to make Heather every bit of an unlikable freak as-


“Oh shit.” Liz chuckles out, fishing in her bag of pins - then, she pulls out a small skull-and-crossbones. “She’s not that bad, is she, Heather? Well - maybe you’re onto something.” When it came to outcast freaks, Zelda was the prime example in Liz’s book. She still dolled herself up like a goth; like she’d just stepped out of a fucking time machine from the early 2000’s. As far as Liz knew - but it wasn’t like she kept tabs on the freak or anything - Zelda didn’t have many pals; didn’t care for them, either. But, anyone that stuck around her could easily get bogged down in the mire of rumors and disdain she carried around with her.


Liz pins two of the skull-and-crossbones pins on the doll’s back, admiring her work. “Maybe… They could be a little more than…” Liz stopped herself. “No - no.” Liz wasn’t interested in playing matchmaker - besides, she didn’t know what team Zelda was batting for, as it were. Rumors kinda made that a little complicated. More importantly - she didn’t want Zelda to have Heather all to herself… Not yet. She wanted that bitch to bow to her first - and she wanted everyone to know it. After that… She didn’t care what the little nobody did. 


Much of her work was a repeat as last night’s - revisiting areas she’d placed ‘hair’ on, and giving it a thicker coat; from there, expanding to areas she hadn’t yet touched. The doll’s arms, crotch and navel, even a little bit on her rear - it didn’t satisfy Liz, but it came damned close. Stuffing her feet again was a given - she reached over to pillage some more stuffing from her teddy bear, but… She got an idea before she did. Raising her scissors to the doll’s defined breasts, she cuts a small hole and starts removing a bit of stuffing; snickering all the while. She appropriates the stuffing into her now-greatly-swollen feet - by now, Liz hoped the women’s section would be but a memory. 


Once more, Liz picks the doll up by the ponytail - but she doesn’t keep a hold of it for long. With one neat snip, she hacks off a good amount of Heather’s hair - leaving her with a straight; if a little messy bob of yarn. “You’ve got enough hair down below to accommodate.” Liz sneers, dropping the fistfull of severed yarn to the side of her workspace. She turns the doll over and looks at its face - its bright blue button eyes and its wide grin. Happy was the last thing she wanted to see Heather be. 


Besides, she thinks - she was a sweet little thing; a getalong kind of gal. That’s why people liked her so much! Even if her feet were massive, even if she had body hair like a mammoth - Liz knew full well that their mutual friend group wasn’t shallow enough to outright drop her because her looks took a hit. If she had an attitude - and a sour one at that - then who would want to bother with her? Liz takes a needle and slowly undoes the yarn forming the doll’s grin - tearing it out, and threading it back in as a scowl. She even takes a bit of yarn from her hair and threads it in over her eyes - not just giving her a fierce look, but the thick yarn made her brows seem rather thick. 


“I can only hope for the best,” Liz chuckles, rubbing a thumb over Heather’s new brows. “or, well, the worst.” Heather looks over the doll, and… She has ideas. Terrible ideas, at that. However… She wanted to wait. She wanted to drive the little runt into a corner before she went any further. She sets the doll down, and picks up her phone. With a few taps of her fingers, she gathered a few of their… Mutual friends into a little group chat. “It’s been a while since we all hung out last,” she murmurs, a smile curling over her plump, pink lips. “I’m sure Heather won’t mind a bit of company.”


