To heal a Rogue

BONNIE

"It’s just a dress." Delta shrugged. "I don’t think he’d mind."

I wasn’t so sure.

There was something tender and unresolved about Lysander’s mother, something I didn’t want to accidentally disturb by putting on the wrong dress.

"I used to stay in the retainer’s quarters," I reminded her. "I still have clothes there."

"Male clothes?"

"I don’t think it matters." I gestured toward myself. "I’ll be dressed either way."

Delta crossed her arms and gave me a look.

"You’re going to be a queen, Mistress."

That made me uncomfortable instantly. "Please, can you just call me Bonnie?"

She nodded.

"You’re going to be a queen, Bonnie." She repeated. "You need to start looking and feeling the part."

She lifted the dress again. "And I know for a fact Alpha Lysander wouldn’t care one bit if you wore this."

She paused, her mouth curving.

"Would he even remember it belonged to his mother? He’s a man. Men remember three things total."

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

I glanced back at the dress.

The ruined scanty gown I had been wearing earlier was probably still lying somewhere, soaked through with my own blood and Lysander’s and most likely unwearable now. Compared to that, there really wasn’t anything so terrible about a pink dress.

"Fine."

Delta’s entire face brightened.

She immediately began smoothing the fabric properly, looking far too pleased with herself.

I dried myself the rest of the way, running the towel through my damp hair as I watched her fuss over the dress. It was only when I caught her staring that I realized her attention had shifted from the dress to my hair.

"Yeah," I told her, catching her look. "It’s my natural color."

I was sure that was what it was about. It was an odd and interesting color. I didn’t mind the questioning mind.

I was wrong.

"I’m aware." She replied and her eyes remained fixed on it. "The thing is we need to fix it properly."

I frowned. "I don’t think that’s necessary."

"I insist."

There was something about the way she said it that told me this argument was already over.

She was already crossing toward the dresser, pulling open one drawer after another until she found what she was looking for.

"Here we are."

She held up a small collection of brushes, pins, and hair ties before gesturing toward a chair.

"Sit."

I gave her a skeptical look, but sat anyway.

Delta worked through my hair section by section, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she smoothed, separated, and arranged it. There was something oddly soothing about the repetitive motion, enough that I found myself relaxing despite my initial reluctance.

It took me back to a simpler time. It took me back to my mother and there was suddenly this gnawing feeling that consumed my insides.

The fact that I hadn’t let anyone touch my hair like this in years.

Not since I killed her.

Not since the binder and the wig had become necessary parts of surviving.

Back then, there hadn’t been anything personal about my appearance. Everything had been about hiding the parts of myself that could get me hurt.

This felt different.

When Delta finally stepped back, she studied her work for a moment before smiling.

"How does it look?"

I looked at myself in the mirror.

For a moment, I couldn’t say anything.

The shorter length framed my face in a way I hadn’t expected. Without the wig hiding it and without the careful effort I’d spent years making myself look like someone else, my features seemed softer.

Almost... pretty.

The thought felt strange.

It was not unpleasant in any way. It was just unfamiliar.

"It looks really good," I admitted, my voice coming out a little rougher than I intended.

Delta’s grin widened, clearly pleased with herself.

"Just wait until you see it with the gown on and I do your makeup."

I caught her reflection in the mirror.

"Are you always this insufferable?"

"Yes," she replied without hesitation. "You’ll just have to get used to me."

She began gathering the brushes and pins, looking almost excited.

"It’s actually been a while since I’ve done anyone’s makeup properly," she admitted. "I used to do it all the time, but I haven’t had much reason to lately. The Lunas at Lily of the Valley all have Omegas they’ve already established relationships with, and Alpha Lysander is a man, so there’s really no one for me to practice on."

She paused.

I turned slightly in the chair, already preparing to tell her, "I’m not so sure about the makeup part."

But before I could, something shifted in her expression.

It was brief, barely there, but I caught it. Her gaze dropped to the brushes in her hands, and for a moment she seemed to drift somewhere far beyond the room, as though something about what she’d just said had stirred a memory she hadn’t meant to revisit.

"Delta?"

She blinked and looked back at me.

"Hmm?"

"You disappeared for a second."

"Yeah." A small, almost apologetic smile touched her lips. "Sorry."

She looked down at the brushes again, and something about the way she held them made me hesitate.

It felt like she needed this.

Normally, I wouldn’t have cared much about makeup, and I still wasn’t convinced I wanted a face full of it. But maybe it wasn’t really about the makeup for her.

So I decided to let her have the moment.

"Well, if you’re this good with a hairbrush," I said, turning back toward the mirror, "I can’t wait to see what you can do with eyeliner."

She laughed, the tension leaving her face almost immediately.

She picked up one of the makeup brushes and twirled it between her fingers, her confidence returning in full force.

"Prepare to be wowed."

I smiled at her reflection.

"Now you’re just showing off."

"Absolutely."

I watched her arrange everything she needed with the seriousness of someone preparing for battle, and a quiet smile settled on my lips.

Maybe this wasn’t so bad. Maybe I could learn to enjoy things that weren’t about survival.

For once, I didn’t have to hide myself. I could simply exist, and perhaps even discover who I was.

That was... nice.