❛ dressed . help my muse put on an article of clothing .
the hands adjusting the cape over his shoulders are awfully small.
santiago watches them brush dust off the fabric through the mirror and can't help but cringe at the sight of dear claudia, wearing that dreadful dress for the fifth day in a row. she was a prisoner to the infacy she had fought so hard to distance herself from. it had been a cruel play from armand, to doom her to such a role. santiago wondered how much of it had to do with his yankee companion. could armand be jealous of a vampire so much younger than himself? he wouldn't know; the maître no longer confided in him. he had someone else to rely on nowadays.
"terrible, isn't it?" santiago suddenly said, breaking the dressing room's silence. "to have a costume forced upon you." the actor furrowed his brow at claudia's reflection. his expression seemed graver than his tone. "and that nickname?" he scoffed, shaking his head lightly in disapproval. she had been crowned puce; a flea. the power armand had over this coven ... to make her less than a vampire, nay, less than a human! she was an insect. blood sucking, yes, but branded as an inconvenience by the very same man that ought to be playing host.
santiago tilted his head and tucked a loose strand of hair back against his skull. he did not care that deeply for the small actress --- to be fair, santiago had begun to doubt he could feel as strongly for anyone as he did for himself --- but any empathy he might conjure for claudia came from a place of recognition; he knew the pain of having an identity forced upon you against your will all too well.
"the world will always find a way to make you feel small, no matter how old you look." santiago finally turned around when satisfied with the cape's positioning. "the maître has made a flea out of you," bright green eyes met claudia's own. there was a mischievous glint behind his stare "but a flea bites still."