Carrie turned, hands on her hips, studying herself with the kind of intense scrutiny normally reserved for high-stakes poker games or FBI profiling. The dressing room lighting was trash, but it didn't matter. No light could dim this level of hot.
She tilted her head, watching the way the dress draped over her like it had been custom-made by a designer who wanted to personally contribute to her power. The fabric hugged in all the right places, skimmed over the ones that didn't need help, and when she shifted just slightly--bam--a flash of thigh in the mirror nearly made her moan out loud.
"Ohhh," she murmured, dragging her fingers along her waist. "Who is she?"
She turned, glancing over her shoulder, admiring the way the backline framed the smooth curve of her spine. She arched a little--because why waste a perfect back moment?--and let out a slow, pleased hum.
"Carrie," she purred at her own reflection, voice dipped into something dangerously low. "You are a menace."
Her reflection smirked back, and oh, that was lethal. She leaned in closer, resting her palms on her thighs, eyes dark and wicked.
"If I were someone else," she whispered to the mirror, eyes locked onto herself, "I'd be in trouble."
She ran a hand through her hair, mussing it up just enough to make it look like she'd just ruined someone's life in a supply closet. The visual effect was devastating.
"You are illegal levels of sexy," she told herself, tapping her chin. "Like, if I saw you across the bar? Game over. I'd buy you a drink. No--three drinks. Expensive ones. And I'd pray to whatever god is listening that you don't just take them and walk away."
She sighed, dragging her fingers down her own arm like she was imagining someone else doing it. "But let's be real--I wouldn't stand a chance, would I?" Her smirk deepened. "I'd hit on you, try to be all smooth, and you'd just--" she snapped her fingers, "--laugh, say something devastatingly clever, and disappear into the night, leaving me heartbroken and aching."
She turned slightly again, shifting her hips, and fuck, she looked good from every angle. She ran a hand over her waist, down to her thigh, watching the way the dress moved with her.
"I'd flirt with you so hard," she murmured, running a fingertip along her own collarbone. "I'd write sonnets about you. I'd dedicate songs to you on the radio. I'd--fuck, I'd die for you."
Then she froze.
Her reflection froze too, of course, staring back at her with wide, astonished eyes.
"You... would?" she whispered, a shaky breath catching in her throat.
A hand flew to her chest. God, she could feel her own heartbeat racing, pounding at the mere thought of loving herself this much. It was overwhelming. It was raw. It was beautiful.
Tears welled in her own eyes. "I--I've never been loved like this before," she choked out, reaching toward the mirror, fingertips trembling as they met her own. "No one's ever said that to me. No one's ever..." Her voice cracked. "Died for me."
Her reflection swallowed hard. "Carrie..."
And suddenly, she was lost.
She was in love.
