Chapter 3: The Glamorous Transformation: Pink and Sparkles
Diana blinked at her reflection, the thick pink eyeshadow making her blue eyes look unnaturally wide, like a startled doll's. Her dark hair was yanked into two high, bouncy pigtails tied with shimmering ribbons that caught the morning light. She touched one, the acrylic nail – long, pointed, dangerously sharp beneath the pink polish – clicked softly against the plastic ribbon clip. When did I…? The thought flickered, a tiny spark in the fog. Something about the weight on her fingertips felt… new. Wrong, maybe? But the sensation evaporated instantly, replaced by a wave of absolute certainty. Of course I always wear them. Adds flair.
She smoothed the shimmering, electric-blue leotard over her hips. The material was thinner than her usual battle gear, almost sheer in places, clinging fiercely. It left nothing to the imagination, the cut high on her thighs, the neckline plunging. Cool air whispered across exposed skin, raising goosebumps. She shivered, but not from cold. A strange warmth, thick and unfamiliar, pulsed low in her belly. The air in her normally serene bedroom felt heavy today, perfumed with something musky and sweet, like overripe fruit left in the sun. Had she lit a candle? She couldn’t recall.
A sharp buzz from her discarded belt sliced through the quiet. Bruce’s voice, tight with controlled urgency, crackled from the communicator. "Diana. We've got another one. More intense than the Garvey incident. Corner of 5th and Bleeker. Reports of localized time dilation and… aggressive transmutation. Concrete turning to viscous sludge. Civilians trapped."
Reality fraying again. The strange warmth in her belly coiled into something else: focused adrenaline. The fleeting unease about her nails, the odd scent, the scandalous cut of the leotard – all dissolved. Justice called. That was the anchor.
"On it," she replied, her voice huskier than intended. She clipped the comm unit onto the thin strap at her hip, the action making the leotard ride even higher. She didn’t notice. Grabbing her golden lasso, coiled and heavy, felt grounding. Familiar.