8:12 AM – Street Outside Amy's Apartment
The pastel gleam of morning bathed the complex's sleek exterior. Amy pulled up in the Lilac Ghost, her pulse still erratic, brain whirling through combinations of clothes she didn't have.
Just as she parked, a dusty silver hatchback swerved into the spot beside her with comical timing and far too much speed. Out leapt Lumi and Risa, windblown, coffee in hand, looking like a tactical response unit arriving for fashion-related disaster relief.
"Wait. How did you—?"
"We were already halfway to your place," Lumi called, slamming her door. "I knew this would happen. You don't plan anything."
"I planned one thing—" Amy began.
"And forgot you needed clothes for it," Risa cut in, brushing her soft denim-blue bob back behind one ear. "We've got you."
"I haven't even opened the front door yet."
"We'll handle that too," Lumi added, already walking past her. "You just breathe and don't fight us."
…
8:15 AM – Amy's Apartment, Interior
Boxes lined the walls. The closet was a minimalist's daydream — blacks, grays, midnight blues, maybe a single muted purple. Not a single sundress in sight. Definitely no color-coded blouses or date-ready accessories.
"Oh gods," Lumi muttered, staring into the closet like it had personally offended her.
"I know," Amy said miserably. "It's a uniform."
"It's a funeral procession," Risa corrected.
"I'm not wearing something floral," Amy warned.
"We're not monsters," Lumi replied. "We just want you to look like a person who wants to be on a date."
"I do want to—"
"Then step back and let the witches work."
What followed was a rapid-fire, zero-mercy outfit evaluation montage. Risa dove into drawers. Lumi analyzed silhouettes like a military strategist. Amy watched helplessly as they judged her entire wardrobe with the cold efficiency of a jury.
Clothes flew. Comments were made. Socks were thrown out of consideration entirely.
"Too formal. Too tragic. Too many buttons," Lumi murmured. "Ah—this one."
She held up a soft lavender blouse. High-collar, subtle shimmer. Delicate. Not too bold — just enough to say I thought about today.
Amy blinked. "I forgot I even owned that."
"You didn't," Lumi said. "Your subconscious packed it. Your inner romantic wants to live."
"I am not a romantic."
"Says the girl who named her car 'Lilac Ghost'."
Amy covered her face. "You are so annoying."
"You love me," Lumi said sweetly, holding the blouse to her chest like a trophy. "Now try it on. We'll pick jeans and shoes next. And if this doesn't make Sara blush, we'll break into her house and leave handwritten notes questioning her taste."
"No one is breaking into anything," Amy muttered.
"We'll just write threatening haikus about fashion," Risa added.
Amy sat down on the bed, blouse in her lap. The banter helped. So did their presence. For a minute, she let herself breathe.
"Thanks," she said quietly.
"You're welcome," Lumi said, already holding up a matching set of earrings. "Now. Let's make you undeniable."
…
The living room was still a mess of discarded jackets, hairbrushes, and half-zipped makeup pouches by the time Amy emerged from her bedroom fully dressed.
She stopped at the edge of the hallway, clutching the collar of her blouse like it might vanish if she didn't hold it in place. The soft lavender fabric caught the light, subtle but unmistakably chosen. A delicate, silver-edged pin shaped like a crescent moon sat just at her throat. Her black high-waisted jeans fit snugly, and her boots—matte, angular, quietly bold—grounded the entire look.
Lumi looked up from the kitchen counter, a piece of toast hanging from her mouth.
"Okay, now I believe in destiny," she said, chewing.
Amy didn't answer right away. She stepped slowly toward the standing mirror in the hallway, half-expecting to see someone else.
It wasn't a dramatic transformation. Not really. Same hair—unbrushed but somehow intentional. Same pale face with too many thoughts behind the eyes. But there was something softer about the reflection. Less like she was dressing for battle. More like she'd stopped running from herself.
Her throat tightened.
Risa appeared behind her in the reflection, holding out a mug. "Drink this before you implode."
Amy took the mug—milky coffee, light cinnamon—and sipped. "Thanks."
"You didn't eat," Lumi said, flipping a pancake with one hand and scrolling through her phone with the other. "Sit down and chew something before you faint on her doorstep."
Amy hesitated, then nodded and sat at the kitchen island. Risa slid a plate toward her with two pancakes and a sliced banana. Lumi sprinkled powdered sugar like it was fairy dust.
"We're making sure you don't die of anxiety," Risa said.
"Or hunger," Lumi added. "Those are our only metrics for success today."
Amy took another sip of coffee. The clock ticked past 12:40. She had just enough time.