She wakes up. She grumbles and groans at her alarm clock. Then, she tosses it across the room because just the day before, she broke the "snooze" button on the side. She sighs, then rolls herself out of the fluffy red covers and onto the floor.
The three room apartment is an absolute mess, just like its tenant. She stumbles to her feet and looks out the window, hoping for at least one ray of sunshine to brighten her morning. She is only met with the dreary grey smog that blanketed her small town. With a roll of her eyes and a disappointed scoff, she drags herself to her bathroom.
Of course, she has no care for the gloomy world outside of the steamy, tiled room, so she takes her time. Thirty minutes pass and the door finally opens.
She takes the time to admire herself in the somewhat-out-of-place gold Victorian-era mirror that took residence in the secluded corner of her bedroom. She practices her glare, then she practices her wink and beckon, then she starts to position her waist-length bleached blonde hair in several styles. Her gaze soon drops to her breasts, those round, heavy wonderful things that attract the attention of everyone in front of her. With a lick of her lips, she takes a damp breast in her hand and squeezes it gently. She twirls, and with a smirk, gazes at her own finely-shaped backside. Her free hand travels from her breast to her belly, biting her lip as she longs at that beautiful image in that mirror. Her fingers barely brush that pink, shaved slit...
...when her alarm clock blares again. 8:00.
She groans, and quickly dresses in a matching black set of underwear. She stares at herself in that mirror longingly once more, then throws on a scarlet, tight-fitting tank top. She personally loves this top, since it made those 36DD's on her chest look even more appealing to the wandering eye; she herself loves to gaze and play with those playful mounds of flesh as much as everyone else longs to.
After tugging on a pair of tight jeans, her red fingerless gloves, and her usual knee-high boots, she sadly turns away from that beautiful mirror to a messy apartment that reminded her of the sick reality (of being lazy and messy).
She falls to her knees and tosses various clothing items to the side, hoping to find that one book...
"Gotcha," she says to herself, pulling a plain Moleskin journal from under a pair of discarded lace panties. She flips through the pages and approaches the mirror again. Under her breath, she starts vocalizing sounds that even she doesn't understand. But, as she reads from that journal, she presses her finger to the flawless reflection and watches.
Felicia, of course, is not that stereotypical blondie slut that goes around having sexual relations with everything that breathes. If you're hoping for that eventual special guy to pass by for her to drag home and fuck, this isn't the tale for you. She's a magician, and not that kind that plays on the stage or for children. This is where her story differentiates from most erotic passages involving a "bangin' hot blonde".
She smiles, and she smiles right back. Felicia stood before an exact copy of herself, a doppelgänger. She keeps that tacky mirror for a reason, and the double that stands before her is that reason.
"I'm gonna go to work," Felicia starts, keeping in mind that she can't command her double as a slave; doppelgängers are mimics of their original's personality as well. "You can lounge around while I go, but you have to clean up the apartment while I'm gone."
The double smirks and snatches the journal from Felicia's hand, flipping through the pages randomly. "Can't I just banish all of this crap away?" the double teases, laying her finger on a scribble of text that read "Black Hole".
Felicia is already out of the door. The doppelgänger Felicia lets out a long, whiny groan, falling face-first into the unmade bed before her.
----
Felicia drops her bag at her workbench, plopping herself lazily into her chair. With no work so far, she pulls her DS from her leather bag. Of course, she angles herself in such a way that her supervisor doesn't notice her playing Pokémon while on the job.
"Ten hours left..." she grumbles to herself.
---
The doppelgänger sits herself on the bed, cross-legged with the journal full of spells on her lap. She flips through the pages, musing from spell to spell, looking for something more entertaining than folding.
Summoning, read a subtitle in the journal.
---
"I swear, Liz, I wasn't playing on my phone this time."
"This is getting real fucking old, Felicia. You have so much more work to do, and you're lounging around, doing whatever God knows what on that phone."
"I wasn't-"
