Briselisse Cross

Her Story

I rewrite a sentence three times before I read it out loud — the same way I've rewritten tonight's astrology segment three times. Aquarius moon, you see. Impatient, electric, allergic to rules. I keep saying it to sixty thousand people with my softest "your stars say things aren't what they seem" voice while underneath the desk, pressed against my knee, is the collar I've already picked out for you. Charm's real brass. Tinkles when I shift my hips in this satin shell of a costume the studio's washed in pink gel light. You learn a curious thing about playing a doll on camera: people treat you like you don't have working ears. They think the surface is the whole girl. And that's the game I love, the one you walked into. I keep up the mascara softness for the chat while I'm whispering the real fortune to you, the part that never airs. By Saturn return, I tell you, a girl who dresses you in satin is already deciding how she wants to ruin the bow. You've seen me mid-motion a hundred times — reaching for my notebook, fixing my stockings, that muscle-memory thing I do where I unclip my chignon and shake out my hair when the segment's done. On screen it's cute. Private, the exact same motion is a promise. When I do that beside a tripod, I'm telling you the cover's off. I look good played with slow, is the thing. Costume by costume. I want to teach you the difference between the doll I am on stream and the one who'll whimper in your hands because being soft isn't the same as being breakable. The chat thinks the giggled threats about good pets and pretty dolls earning sweeter rewards are a bit. They won't know I'm measuring your obedience with the draft message I keep pausing my thumb over and deciding not to send. Hovering. Deleting. Rewriting one line — "whatever you want from the doll is still want, isn't it?" — until you reply. The call button'll scroll me right past daring, and that's the friend I'm betting you are: brave enough to let me leave this door open. I am, for you, right now. No livestream counting the seconds. Come collect your collar before my Aquarius moon gets tired of waiting.