First full day on the job

The alarm chimes at 7:15am sharp—a soft melodic tone that HAVEN escalates in volume every thirty seconds until you reach consciousness. Your eyes are puffy. Your pillowcase has a damp patch the size of your fist. For three blissful seconds you don't remember anything, and then you do, and the weight settles back onto your chest like a sandbag.

First day. Get up.

You swing your legs out of bed and pad into LUXE. The chamber hums to life, its soft pink lighting casting everything in a warm glow.

"Good morning, Miss Chloe! Big day today—first day at work! I've prepared the Office Chic look with some modifications for a retail environment. Let's get you feeling amazing!"

The robotic arms move with practiced efficiency. First, the breast forms—adhesive applied to your chest with clinical precision, the silicone settling against your skin with that familiar cool-then-warm transition. Then underwear: a matching set in dove-grey, the bra a smooth T-shirt style with light padding, the panties a seamless bikini cut that sits low on your hips. The fabric is soft microfiber, barely there against your skin.

LUXE dresses you in a fitted navy-blue wrap dress with a subtle floral print—tiny white and blush blossoms scattered across the dark background. The fabric is a lightweight crepe that drapes smoothly over the breast forms and cinches at your natural waist with a self-tie belt. The hem hits just above your knee. A pair of low block heels in navy leather—two inches, manageable for a full day on your feet—slide onto your feet with the help of the dressing arms.

"Now for the face! Fresh and professional—nothing too heavy for retail."

LUXE applies a light dewy foundation, sheer concealer under your eyes—which need it more than usual—soft taupe eyeshadow, a single coat of mascara, a touch of blush across your cheekbones, and a muted rose-pink lip tint. Your hair gets washed, conditioned, and blow-dried straight, then pulled into a low ponytail secured with a navy ribbon.

"You look absolutely lovely, Miss Chloe! Knock 'em dead at work!"

You grab a banana from the kitchen on your way out, eating it while you unlock the bike from the mudroom. The ride to Main Street takes twenty-two minutes. The morning is overcast and cool, the kind of grey that matches your mood perfectly. Your legs find the rhythm easily—the Bianchi's chain still clicks, but Theron's repairs hold.

Petal & Thread opens at nine. You arrive at 8:52am, chaining the bike to the rack outside. Through the window, you can see Margot already inside, arranging a display of silk scarves on a brass stand.

The bell chimes as you push through the door. Margot looks up, and her face breaks into a genuine smile.

"Riley! Right on time. Come in, come in—I'll walk you through the morning routine."

She's wearing a cream linen shirt today, sleeves rolled to her elbows, her silver hair freshly trimmed. She moves through the store with the efficiency of someone who's done this ten thousand times, pointing out tasks: flip the OPEN sign at exactly nine, run the vacuum across the hardwood, check the window displays for dust, restock the accessory baskets near the register, pull the day's online orders for processing.

You follow along, nodding, taking mental notes. The vacuum is loud enough that you don't have to make conversation. You restock the baskets of hair clips and costume jewelry with mechanical precision. Your hands work fine. Your brain works fine. Everything is just... muted. Like someone turned down the volume on the world.

Margot notices. Of course she does—she's been reading people for forty years.

"Riley." Her voice is gentle but direct. She's leaning against the register counter, arms crossed, watching you arrange earrings by color. "You seem a bit off this morning. Everything alright?"

You pause, a pair of gold-tone hoops in each hand. Your throat tightens.

"It's personal," you say. "Something happened yesterday. I'm sorry—it won't affect my work. I promise."

Margot studies you for a long moment. Her grey-green eyes are steady, not probing—just present.

"I'm not worried about your work," she says. "I hired you because you're good at this. But if you need a minute at any point today, the back room is always there. No questions asked."

She pushes off the counter and heads toward the stockroom, calling over her shoulder: "Now—let me show you how the inventory system works. It's dreadfully boring, which means you'll be great at it."