Diabolik Dominatrix

№➊➋

The two women disappear.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

In the safety of her old room, dusty now, Cordelia and Chouko fall into old rhythms. Cordelia chooses a black dress of Chouko's to wear, “modifies” it through a series of ripping and pinning, and the end result has it fitting Cordelia's new body like a perfect glove. Ironically, Cordelia also took a pair of Chouko's gloves to wear, long and black, to go with Chouko's sleeveless dress. The dress has been a favorite of the girl, one that made her feel mature and beautiful, but as the female zips her mother in she realizes that it had only ever been a ploy to look more like her mother. And as her mother holds her arms out expectantly and Chouko slips the gloves onto her, Chouko can see that the dress was always meant for someone like her mother. Someone who was naturally radiant, something no manner of dress could compensate for. As the saying goes: it's not the dress, it's the woman. And as Cordelia looks up at her through green eyes and blonde hair that fact has never been more apparent, it’s as if even she sees it too:

“How do I look?” There's something taunting in her eyes.

“Beautiful,” but the quiet and unconscious envy that Cordelia had instilled in her since birth prevents her from seeing it. Cordelia frowns and turns abruptly to look at her reflection in her vanity’s mirror across the room. “Perfect” was what she was expecting to hear, but she supposes she can't punish her daughter too much for that mistake. After all, this pathetic mortal's body will never know perfection. Disdain wrinkles her youthful face as she catches sight of the human's blonde hair:

“Brush my hair for me, will you?”

The mother waits for no answer as she gathers herself upon the vanity stool and her daughter falls into step behind her with a brush. Cordelia's green eyes roam over the purple strands trapped within its teeth and she smiles a little to herself before staring at herself in the mirror. Chouko begins the familiar brushing routine like she used to do decades ago, but even though it brings happiness to her chest, it's not quite the same. Curious.

Cordelia's eyes roam all throughout the mirror image and some degree of disappointment hits her. The idea of living in such an unworthy body for eternity was...unfavorable. Compared to her former, radiant glory, would Richter look at her the same as before? Would Karl still admire her beauty as she slowly plunged the knife into his body? Would he think she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen as the life faded from his eyes? Would he love her in that moment more than any?

But Cordelia's eyes drag themselves out of the depths of her own and to her daughter's own image in the mirror. They stop dead on the long purple waves cascading down her back-

A sharp pain suddenly tugs at her and the comb locks onto her strands with a jerk that makes her cry out: “Ow!” Her furious green eyes attach themselves onto her daughter with unholy judgement.

“I'm sorry! The texture of the hair is just…” Chouko catches herself as she realizes that this is her mother's eternal body. “Different,” she finishes.

Cordelia looks at her short, blonde hair in the mirror, and then her daughter’s own long, majestic purple strands. And suddenly no amount of combing the short platinum locks of the mortal will appease her. How she wanted to pick up her knife and scalp her daughter's head until there was nothing left but blood, shredded skin, and sparse thatches of purple fuzz. Then she would never think herself superior to me!

Cordelia composes herself: “When you're done combing my hair, you must remind me to trim yours again. It's gotten out of hand,” she comments.

Chouko nods vacantly, the words echoing around in her head. Why do they sound so different this time? Another voice in her head says that she offended her mother with her comment, and that voice wins out as shame presses down upon her. The brush stops.