Ivanna is now a streamer

I leaned forward, the heavy black lace of my corset digging into my ribs. I adjusted the headset buried in my thick black waist-length raven curls.

“Welcome back, you degenerates,” I purred into the mic. “We’re twenty minutes into the second half of the World Cup final, and if France doesn’t score soon, I might just have to punish myself on camera for your entertainment. What do you think, chat? Should the Goth Queen show a little more skin?”

The chat scrolled so fast it was a blur of purple and neon green.

“QueenIvanna666, show us the goods!”

“Bet she’s wearing nothing under that leather.”

“Ivanna is the only reason I watch sports.”

I smirked, tilting my head to let the heavy, dark eyeliner catch the ring light. This was my kingdom. Ivanna, the rocker goth goddess. I had also spent last week roasting my ex-boyfriend Raphael into oblivion. I’d told my three hundred thousand viewers everything. I’d told them about his two-inch wonder. I’d told them about how he lasted exactly forty-five seconds on a good day. I’d made him the laughingstock of the internet, and my sub count had never been higher.

“You guys are thirsty tonight,” I said, clicking a button to trigger a tip alert. A loud, distorted electric guitar riff blared through the speakers. “Thank you for the fifty bits, ShadowStalker. He says, ‘Ivanna, you’re too hot for this world.’ You’re damn right I am.”

Suddenly, the door behind me slammed open. The bang was so loud it echoed through the mic. I jumped, my heart hammering.

“What the hell?” I gasped, spinning my gaming chair around.

Diana stood there, her hands on her hips. My twenty-two-year-old step-sister looked like a different species compared to me. She was wearing a simple white tank top and denim shorts, her blonde hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looked healthy, athletic, and—most terrifyingly—absolutely furious.

“Are you still doing this garbage, Ivie?” Diana asked, her voice cutting through the heavy bass of the stream’s background music.

“Diana, get out!” I hissed, trying to block the camera with my body. “I’m live! Three hundred thousand people are watching!”

Diana didn’t flinch. She walked right into the frame, her eyes scanning the monitors. “Three hundred thousand people? Perfect. It’s about time they saw the truth about the ‘Goth Queen’ of the suburbs.”

The chat went nuclear.

“Who is the blonde?”

“Step-sis reveal?”

“Conflict! We love conflict!”

“Diana, I’m warning you,” I said, my voice trembling. “Leave. Now.”

“Or what?” Diana laughed, stepping closer. She looked down at me, her eyes brimming with a cruel sort of glee. “You’re thirty-six years old, Ivie. You’ve been living in this basement since I was in middle school. You spend four hours a day putting on this costume, and frankly, I’m tired of hearing you talk shit about Raphael when you’re just as big a fraud.”

“I’m not a fraud!” I screamed. “I’m an influencer! I have a brand!”

“You have a pile of lies,” Diana said. She reached out, her movements lightning-fast. Before I could recoil, her fingers clamped onto the top of my head.

“Diana, no!”

With a violent jerk, she ripped the black curls right off my scalp. The wig came away with a sickening velcro sound, leaving me exposed. Underneath, my hair was a short, a choppy ginger pixie cut, the bright orange strands clashing horribly with my pale, caked-on foundation.

“Look at that,” Diana shouted, holding the wig up like a trophy for the camera. “The dark goddess is actually a ginger! A little pumpkin-headed nerd!”

I scrambled to cover my head with my hands, my face burning with a heat that felt like it would melt my makeup. “Give it back! Give it to me!”

“Check the chat, Ivie,” Diana mocked, pointing at the screen.

“SHE’S A GINGER?”

“LMAO look at that haircut.”

“She looks like a disgruntled Q-tip.”

“Where’s the goth? I see a librarian.”