Alexia gets her wig and crown back

Alexia's heart sank. She knew she had been humiliated beyond belief, but the thought of everyone at the convention seeing her like this was almost too much to bear. She had to get out of here, and fast.

With trembling fingers, she pulled her dress back up, wincing as the cold air hit her exposed skin. She struggled to get her arm in the sleeve, her fingers fumbling with the zipper on the back of her dress. Finally, with a deep breath, she managed to close the back of her dress and pull up the top, covering her breasts once more.

Roxy's smirk widened as she slowly unzipped the stolen costume bag, her fingers deliberately brushing against the fabric to prolong Alexia's torment. "Here," she said, tossing the blonde Princess Peach wig and golden crown at Alexia's feet, making her scramble to pick them up. "But this?" Roxy shook the bag teasingly, the muffled jingle of keys and the glow of a phone screen visible through the mesh pocket. "This stays with me."

Alexia's breath hitched as she watched Roxy dangle her belongings just out of reach, the train station's flickering fluorescent lights casting long shadows across their faces. Her bare thighs pressed together as a cold draft slithered up her dress, making her painfully aware of her missing underwear.

"You—you can't keep my things," Alexia stammered, her voice cracking as she crouched to snatch the wig and crown, her fingers brushing against the grimy station floor.

Roxy's smirk twisted into something darker as she watched Alexia fumble with the wig, her bare fingers trembling against the blonde strands. "That's right, princess," she purred, stepping so close that the heat of her body radiated through Alexia's thin dress. "Put on your little crown too—let me see you dressed up like the perfect, proper Peach before I ruin you."

Alexia's breath came in shallow gasps as she shoved the wig onto her head, the blonde strands catching on her trembling fingers. The crown slipped twice before she managed to balance it atop the ill-fitting wig, her bare thighs pressing together as another cold draft snaked up her dress. Roxy's phone flashed again—another photo—capturing the way Alexia's white stockings quivered where they clipped to her garter belt, the empty space between them glistening under the station lights.

"Look at you," Roxy murmured, circling her like a predator, the stolen bag swinging tauntingly from her fingertips. "Princess Peach, bare under that pretty dress."