Chapter 7: Fallout
Romeo's abandonment had awakened something in Winter. If Romeo thought he was too innocent, too wide-eyed, too dreamy, well then he would be the opposite of all that. He would make himself as hard as diamond, and just as brilliant. He would immerse himself in the depths of depravity and he would rise from it, reborn.
On one of his forays into the city's dens of sin, he had encountered Enrico Sinistrari a man with the face and physique of a pornographer's rendition of a Grecian god. Enrico had taken one look at Winter and decided that he was it, he had to have him for his nightclub. The blond's beauty and grace told Enrico everything he had needed to know about what he'd be like as a performer and as he'd drunkenly spilled his guts about the breakup Enrico had become more and more sure that he could mould Winter into the perfect performer, and perfect tool for enforcing his will on his associates.
Now, in the fashionable salon he was explaining to Winter what exactly he intended.
"I see it in you, you're not innocent, or at least you don't want to be," Enrico said, watching the other man's face intently, "and I can already see what you'll look like on stage, draped in jewels, made up... you'll be a male femme fatale, and when you sing..." he smirked at the thought. He could already imagine the way his patrons would respond.
Enrico Sinistrari leaned back in his plush velvet armchair, his dark eyes fixated on Winter Blaze with a mixture of intensity and calculation. The salon around them exuded opulence, from the gilded chandeliers that cast a warm, flickering glow over the room to the soft strains of classical music that danced through the air. It was a haven of decadence, where dreams transformed into shimmering realities.
Winter nodded thoughtfully. He pictured it. It was blurry, this new self, as yet unformed in his own mind, but he could feel it within him, something stirring. It excited him.
"Let's do it," he said, "I already signed the contract, so I'm in your hands. I trust you."
Enrico smiled, and called to one of the staff members.
"Charles, meet Winter," he said smoothly.
"Charmed," said Charles, eyeing Winter. His practised eye saw the same potential Enrico did instantly.
"I'm thinking platinum blonde," said Enrico, "for the rest I trust your judgment... just remember we want a bombshell, not a debutante."
"Platinum blonde, you say?" Charles mused, stroking his chin as his piercing blue eyes assessed Winter. The lighting in the salon seemed to cast an ethereal glow upon him, bringing out the delicate angles of his face. "Yes, I can see it now. It will be a striking transformation, my dear Winter."
Winter felt a surge of anticipation mingled with trepidation coursing through his veins.
Enrico Sinistrari's dark eyes gleamed with a mixture of satisfaction and a glimmer of mischief as he observed Winter Blaze sitting before him in the exclusive salon. The anticipation of this transformation, this unveiling of Winter's newfound self, hung heavy in the air. Enrico had always prided himself on his ability to mold individuals into something more, something extraordinary, but there was an undeniable spark within Winter that made this metamorphosis feel particularly thrilling.
It was a rare combination of raw vulnerability and a burning desire to transcend expectations. As Winter sat there, waiting for Charles to begin his work, Enrico allowed the intoxicating scent of ambition to wash over him. The atmosphere in the salon crackled with electricity, as if anticipating the birth of a new era.
"So, Winter," Enrico began, his voice smooth and assured, "tell us about yourself. What brought you here to this moment?"
Winter hesitated for a moment, his fingers nervously playing with the edge of his sleeve.
Winter bit his lip, eyes cast down for a moment and then something in his gaze hardened.
"Revenge. My ex said some things about me, and I want to make sure he's wrong."
Enrico smiled. He liked that answer.
Charles began his work, the foils and bleach, the heat lamp as Winter took it all without complaint.
When the brow wax and cosmetics came out, he looked momentarily unsure.
"Do we really have to do that?" asked the blond.
"Look, you have a lovely voice, but there are a lot of lovely voices in the world, and let's be quite honest, you're beautiful... in a rather delicate feminine way. I have a vision, trust me."
Winter nodded.
"Alright," he agreed, letting Charles wax his brows into sleek feminine arches, and paint his face dramatically, dark eyeshadow and burgundy lipstick.
As the stylist moved through their repertoire of makeup application techniques, Winter found himself becoming entranced by the process. The transformation happening before his own eyes was surreal, as if he were viewing it through a distorted mirror. Suddenly, he wasn't certain whether he was looking at himself or someone entirely different.
The lights dimmed, casting a sensual shadow across the salon. Winter felt a strange sense of liberation as the last touch of makeup was applied to his lips—a deep crimson hue that matched the glittering plumage adorning his ensemble.
His hair was platinum blond, his face dramatically made up, his eyes. a vivid poisonous green. he looked like sin itself. His gaze met Sinistrari's,