When you look at me, what do you see? A young, vibrant entrepreneur helming her own fashion empire? A legacy socialite with a movie star boyfriend and access to everything?
My perfect life is no accident; I designed it that way.
Jealous? Donât be. My parents vanished when I was seven, leaving me the richest orphan in the world with my motherâs movie star looks and zero love to go with it.
People say vampires run LA. Thatâs not quite true. They run the world.
Beneath Los Angeles lies a Necropolisâa super-city bigger and more advanced than Tokyo. They call it Underwood, but to the vampires, itâs the capital of the Red Roman Empire.
I had the great misfortune of being banished there after I flew too close to the sun. In these pages, youâll learn what happened to me, my parents, and anyone who stood in the way of vampire superiority.
Youâll see how I traded couture for Cannibal Queens, a perfect relationship for a lesbian love triangle, and my sanity to become Narssicaâa stylish vigilante and the only human vampires fear.
This is how you Descend to Ascend.
When you look at me, what do you see? A young, vibrant entrepreneur helming her own fashion empire? A legacy socialite with a movie star boyfriend and access to everything?
My perfect life is no accident; I designed it that way.
Jealous? Donât be. My parents vanished when I was seven, leaving me the richest orphan in the world with my motherâs movie star looks and zero love to go with it.
People say vampires run LA. Thatâs not quite true. They run the world.
Beneath Los Angeles lies a Necropolisâa super-city bigger and more advanced than Tokyo. They call it Underwood, but to the vampires, itâs the capital of the Red Roman Empire.
I had the great misfortune of being banished there after I flew too close to the sun. In these pages, youâll learn what happened to me, my parents, and anyone who stood in the way of vampire superiority.
Youâll see how I traded couture for Cannibal Queens, a perfect relationship for a lesbian love triangle, and my sanity to become Narssicaâa stylish vigilante and the only human vampires fear.
This is how you Descend to Ascend.
Because I possess a nearly insane acuity for detail, I knew exactly how long she had been watching me. The first time was at Fashion Week. You know that feeling when someone isnât just staring but observing? Everyone thinks my extremely large amber eyes are beautiful. I mean, theyâre not wrong, but to me they were simply how I knew my immediate circle. My mother and my grandmother had them, glowing almost golden eyes that signaled our bloodline. In all my lifetime Iâd never seen them on anyone that wasnât RiviereâŚuntil that day.
Flash.
Thereâs a calmness experienced in a fashion show. It doesnât come when the crew are quietly setting up the stage and the chairs. The models arrive looking disheveled, almost ugly in their strange boho sense of fashion. Then the press swoop in wanting the dirty details. Then the part I hate the most, the crowds. Itâs not when the influencers livestream, or when the reporters start formulating a response to your collection. Itâs always moments before the show. Itâs all like that song by Metric, âBreathing Underwater.â You can hear and see everything, yet itâs all muffled by a sense of profound separation.
Iâm a master at hiding obsession. I see EVERYTHING even when you think Iâm not noticing. The photographer from People Magazine lurking like a spy in foreign territory. The fashion columnist, they are such bitches and they always look bored. Canât have that at a Le Scandale show. Details calm my obsessive mind because details are the language of perfection.
If you walked into my life at exactly this moment you would be dumbfounded by the sheer gargantuan fortress of image I created. Everything is considered in the utmost detail. Everything is exactly where it should beâor is it?
Iâd been staring across an ocean of choreographed chaos searching for flaws. Iâve been doing this for a decade. I can usually tell if a show will be a success by how many unfixable flaws there are. This form of pattern recognition helps me categorize things into the I canât fix that and it doesnât matter anyway and I will die if this isnât dealt with boxes. Itâs weird because when I look back at my previous shows, none of them ever bombed. In the beginning I was lucky. The daughter of Cessie Riviere works once. Pretty always works but everyone in fashion has something or they quietly get filed away. The secret to my success is my love of design and my attention to detail. This has been my quiet refuge since childhood. Itâs also the only sanctuary where I am in total control of my destiny. Everything else means navigating the doubters, the criticizers, the fans, the enthusiasts and my personal favoriteâŚthe haters. I love the haters because they remind me that I am above all else a fortress of perseverance.
âThis is the reality that plagues every artist,â I whispered to myself. Because honestly, design, my art, is all Iâve ever had. It never fails me because I never let it fail me.
I saw a loose thread on that gorgeous skirt I finished Saturday night. The skirt was a maybe that everyone loved so furiously I had to make it a yes. But because it was created last minute it became a sloppy mess yes. I hated that skirt more than life itself; it was like letting the Devil inside your perfect little party. And we all know if the Devil gets in he stays to play.
âThereâs not a thing I can do about it now.â I breathed deeply. âBreathe Delphine! Just breathe.â
âDelphine!â A piercing, tinny voice is calling. Oh my gawdâŚis it really her so soon?
That voice was like nails on a chalkboard.
âDelphine! I simply must tell you that your cross skirt is to die for!â
I had to take a pause while my back was turned to Betsy Dubois. Letâs roll the eyes HARD to get it out before Iâll turn and deal with this. This is the same Betsy that labeled Byron Spectorâs Fall 2023 a âSurrender To Mediocrity.â If Iâm being honest, Betsy was the type of woman that was just pretty, smart and fashionable enough to make her opinions heard on YouTube. She was not worthy of Vogue or even Cosmopolitanâis that a thing anymore?âbut for YouTube, she was the fierce fashion authority. So fierceâŚso fashionâŚso fucking annoying.
I adjusted my $5000, sleek, black wigâan iconic facet of my public persona. I stretched my lips over $50,000 worth of porcelain veneers and turned my gaze on Betsy with all the power and glamor of a superstar. If this bothers you then Iâm just going to remind you that youâre the one that picked up a book titled, âNarssica Ascending.â Iâm, to a degree, narcissistic and you may think that I should be ashamed of that. But the reality is this. I spent years isolated in North Central Florida surrounded by people that simply never valued me. Self love is survival and I never do anything half way. Staying in Betsyâs good graces was more important than snipping loose threads, but only barely.
I learned decades ago, surprisingly in Sunday school, that making people feel seen is half the battle. âMy Betsy. You look so chic today.â
It was amusing how Betsy was so completely disarmed during her own livestream. She even blushed a little with self-indulgence.
âChic Iâve heard before, but from you itâs like a kiss on the lips from the fashion gods!â
I grew up on a farm so wading through pig shit sort of made doing unbearable thingsâŚbearable. I hugged her thinking, It will make her feel seen. Remember that. Oh goodnessâŚher hair smelled like cheap, synthetic patchouli. I dug my nails deep into my own palm, the thought burning: How is this happening to me? A gallon of gas and a cigarette are all I need.
Betsy shoved an itty, bitty, annoying mic in my face as her camera man/boyfriend circled me like a new zoo spectacle. âDelphine! Is the entire show going to be as stunning as that cross skirt?â
Time was running out. My fake smile was bordering on derangement as I solved two problems at once. I made a skirt for Betsy. At least I have a vision of what to do with the gasoline now. The clock was ticking and I only had approximately ten more seconds of patience for this fashion tragedy. I hate it when someone overwhelms me with too many variables and I can no longer assemble my thoughts eloquently, âI am very late forâŚso many things. Make sure to tell Blaine to schedule a fitting for that skirt! A woman of your influence will certainly make it iconic. After all, I made it just for you baby.â I winked, turned and vanished like a phantom into the chaos of Le Scandal before my performance became too obviously performative.
And suddenly I was breathing underwater again. I could hear the bass of background music keeping an energetic beat. I was swallowed by the devouring crowd of the fashion showâs backstage landscape, Betsy turned to her own camera and whispered, âI love her so much.â I heard it shouting through my mind like a Greek chorus.
I was only back on the grind for a moment when I saw those eyes watching me across the room. Her stare was like a siren that cut through the pretense, the crowds and all of the noise.
A mysterious woman dressed in black leather from head to toe with a huge afro and large amber eyes. Riviere eyesâŚglowing majestically.
Itâs disarming. That sense of being seen by someone who completely sees everything. I stared into those eyes, feeling shook. What are you?
My show was unlike anything that had ever hit New York Fashion Week. The Brooklyn Navy Yardâs Building 92 was the perfect venue for all that blueâthis massive converted shipyard space with its soaring industrial ceilings and maritime history provided the theatrical grandeur that even Alexander McQueen would approve of. My collection, âLiquid Memories,â was all rooted in my favorite shade of blue, cobalt. A nod to my motherâs favorite color and the undeniable signal to the fashion world and Betsy that Delphine Devereaux was the eye of fashionâs hurricane.
Everything happened exactly how I planned it, and why wouldnât it? I am a master of scene setting.
When I took the stage I was still breathing underwater. The music, the cheers, and the flash photography cut tiny slices into my consciousness. So much fucking smiling that my face hurt! But I did it vividly, giving the people what they came for. A mic descended from the ceiling with the orchestration that only my tech genius Blaine could achieve. Of all my people, Blaine is the only one that makes me look cooler than I already am. Thank God I found him.
I canât remember what I said to them because none of it was real. It was something like, âThis collection is a love letter to my Mother. Her favorite colorâŚsomething something somethingâŚand thank youâŚsomethingâŚand youâre all beautiful! I am something blessed and now fuck off.â It wasâŚsomethingâŚlike that. I rarely ever mention my parents because I donât wish to be framed by them but when I do itâs always a headliner. I smiled and the flashing lights blinded me. I love that flash because it creates a shield. I canât see you so you canât reach me. Warped logic but trust me it works. And just when I was about to get away with everything there she was AGAIN! Studying me, watching me with a knowing that Iâd never encountered. I glanced downward because that angle always shows off Emilâs beautiful artistry. The way he frames my eyes, a fabulous murky brown with a tiny touch of eggplant. It makes everything jump off the page. When I looked up she had vanished, but that feeling of being seen, that was left in her wake. And I didnât know quite how I felt about it.
I always took quirky rides to the airport. Not because I wanted to, but because Blaine loved putting me in pink limos, a giant party van with neon lights, and my personal favorite Blaine transport nightmareâa completely tricked out Purple PT Cruiser. It was the most hideous car I had ever seen, but I couldnât help but laugh at how it cut through crowds of photographers like an escort of invisible angels.
When the vintage 1959 Bentley S-Type pulled into Kennedy Airport the press was not fooled. Blaine wants me to be seen today. How nice of him to decide my fate. The throngs of photographers were relentless. Reporters asking, âWhere is Dusty?â My security detail pushed a clear path.
I scanned the crowd looking for Abdul. Abdul was one of the worldâs greatest paparazzi. He rose to fame photographing me in a way that was not only flattering, it made me feel seen. He had never missed a major appearance. This relationship had become symbioticâas I grew in fame so did Abdul. His photos and, more importantly, his edits were exquisite. He captured all my best angles and understood lighting in a way that most photographers simply do not get today.
More smiling, more flashing, but deep inside I feltâŚalmost jilted by a lover. Where was Abdul?
The airport is an incredible filter for paparazzi. I mentally divided it into 3 phases. Phase 1: the car launch. This crowd was a mix of real reporters heavily peppered with enthusiasts and fans. Most of them would never attempt to follow inside so it was short lived, but this was also where I first found Abdul so I didnât ever discount the up and coming. I intentionally gave them great material. Smiles, blown kisses, and strategic winks created a facade of false warmth and approachability. They eat it up like little starving puppies.
Directly inside I had the slightly smaller crowd of housepets that would escort me all the way through TSA. Once I was cleared security most of the housepets either found their own flights or respectfully let me be.
As I made my way through Kennedy I felt shook. Something must have happened to AbâŚ
And there he was, hiding behind a large pillar.
âAbdul! You beasty! I thought you didnât love me anymore.â
The noticeable click of his Hasselblad felt almost like a warm cup of cocoa from someoneâs grandmaâdefinitely not mine, given she was an alcoholic weirdo. The familiarity was bizarrely comforting.
âI could never forget my dream girl!â He said with a flirtatious grin. Abdul is cute in a Jonas Brother sort of way but more Middle Eastern.
Today I was serving my most famous dish, feigned demurity, âDo you like my dress, Abdul? I wore it just for you.â
The camera clicks raged on as I turned my head strategically revealing all my best angles, âDid you even bother to watch my show this time?â
âDelphine, you know that I donât care about fashion. I only care about this show.â
I was surgically aware that none of this was real. As I posed, that familiar voice in my mind whispered, But you still love it. I heard an abrupt crackle and the gate agent announced, "Good evening. The crossing for flight 1492 to Los Angeles is now open for our Elite Suite and First Class guests. We invite you to begin your passage. Welcome aboard Swain Air, where time is a luxury.â
âYou are stunning!â He growled.
Turning back at him I veiled my eyes with my favorite vintage sunglasses, Versace MOD 424, âIâm mad at you.â
âWhy baby?â He said with a playful smirk.
I saw the security detail clearing my path to first class. âBecause youâre late! And I donât like it when you spend so much time with the Hadid sisters. Abdul! Itâs all about me! Never forget that!â
I couldnât help but laugh as I sauntered away Abdul whispered, âHave mercy.â He paused for a second then chased with his camera still clicking. His voice pitched high in urgency.
âDelphine, darling! When can I see you again?â
Is it fucked up that this is my most intimate love affair? Over my shoulder I purred, âTomorrow night, Dustyâs film Premiere! Itâs at Graumanâs, my love. Donât be late.â
As I entered the plane I remembered why Blaine so diligently rearranged my travel from my fatherâs private jet to Swain Air. An airline named for the Swains would have intricate levels. Not only did it have first, business, and general class, it also was the first airline to jump to private suites. Meaning each plane had two private suites that were designed exclusively for the rich or famous. Since Iâm both I donât need to tell you that I always get the bigger of the two.
I recalled Blaineâs words, âPrivate jets are the first thing the media goes to when they want to paint you as a spoiled AF heiress. Switching you to Swain Air makes you more âof the people.â It also saves us approximately 47% on travel expenses.â
The trade off was massive. I noticed that when I was one of the first celebrities to give up private jet travel I suddenly became a respected designer over the mediaâs initial ânepo babyâ headline. Very smart positioning.
I entered my luxe suite as an assistant set my overnight bag inside the door. I reclined in one of the suiteâs chairs and immediately flipped on the TV to see press coverage of my show.
The first stop was Betsy Duboisâs YouTube channel. Betsy appeared backstage at the show. I hated her overly trendy, designer glasses that looked like a block of black acrylic carved into a chunky, shiny and ridiculously distracting accessory. Bless her heart. Betsyâs demeanor was a mix of fan girl meets overly exuberant fashion expert. âLe Scandaleâs âLiquid Memoriesâ is whetting New York Fashion Weekâs appetite for high fashion!â
The praise was just another box to be checked. I mentally crossed Betsy off the list and continued my dispassionate scroll through the digital accounts that I knew would be following me. My phone chimedâBlaine. Digital preorders of Liquid Memories SOLD OUT! I absorbed the news like a stock ticker update: expected, processed, and instantly dismissed. My attention had already moved on, pausing on the live feed of an entertainment news channel.
âThe heiress and world-renowned fashion designer basked in a dramatically successful launch of her new collection, âLiquid Memories.â The key color of this collection is cobalt blue, which was her mother, Playmate Cessie Riviereâs favorite color!â
âShe made a string of cult classics, married the richest man in the world, and gave birth to me, and they still talk about Playboy. Unfuckingbelievable.â
I flipped through the drivel of YouTube and there it was, âRising Movie Star, Jillian Barrow Vanishes.â My mind was derailed from the mission at hand as I thought, What is this? It doesnât take an expert to know that Jillian Barrow reminds me of my mother. Sheâs gorgeous, blonde, incredibly polarizing. The woman had a reputation around LA for beingâŚhow do I put this mildlyâŚvery Sharon Stone in her ascension of the ladder. Now Iâm not criticizing anyone. My mother crawled out of the bayou. You use what youâve got to get what you donât got. Is the saying. I clicked the thumbnail and thereâs fucking Betsy Dubois again. Am I stalking Betsy now? âJillian Barrow left Wednesday night for an acting class at Swain Manor in Bel Air.â The video cut to an image of Jay Swain heading to his limo as paparazzi asked questions he paused stared at the camera with an almost predatory smile, âIâve been hosting the ladders class at Swain Manor for twenty years. Jillian was certainly one of the most promising pupils. Itâs sad to imagine that someone would hurt such a beautiful, vivacious, delicate and unforgettable young woman.â He stared off as if he were fantasizing. The camera cut back to Betsy who seemed shook but absolutely refused to call it out. I stared at her thinking, First off Jay Swain makes my skin crawl and what is this bitch in her tacky glasses hiding? Betsy Dubois switched back to the next topic, âI know I canât stop talking about Le Scandaleâs Liquid Memories Show tonight but wowsaâŚâ
My phone flashed, âDusty Chatsworth.â
The newscast continued with Betsy flashing an accusatory stare at the camera, âThere was no sign of Dusty! He was nowhere to be seen. The rumor mill says, âTrouble in Paradise!ââ
I answered his video call thinking, this will be funny, âDusty, or should I say Trouble in Paradise?â
Dusty appeared on my phone screen as he sat in his dressing room wearing a mechanical looking costume designed to make him appear to be a cyborg. His arms appeared to be lasers while his shoulder supported what appeared to be a cannon. A costumer removed part of the cannon as Dusty used baby wipes to cut through the makeup on his face.
âExcuse me, miss? I am American Hero Rock Hard today!â he declared.
I couldnât help but giggle at his absurdity, âThe man, the mechanical legend! Howâs it going?â
âBaby, where are you?â Dusty complained. âMy Premiere is tomorrow and I havenât heard a word from you all weekend!â
I received a hot towel from an attendant, âOh Iâm just at a little thing that wouldnât concern you. Itâs called Fashion Week. You might have heard of it?â
Dusty, sliding out of his chest plate, grinned at the costumer who was clearly ogling his well-defined, bare chest. âPfftâŚ.does it have lasers?â he asked with exaggerated curiosity.
âNoâŚjust spotlights.â
âCannons? Maybe some explosions.â Dusty persisted.
âLuckily Blaine diffused most of my bombs. No explosions,â I replied smoothly. Dusty gets more of me than anyone because I adore him.
âSounds incredibly dull,â he mumbled.
Now he had me laughing as I scolded, âYou are such a bitch.â
âIâm sorry. I promise Iâll go next year!â Dusty offered with reluctance.
âDonât bother. My one true love Abdul was there.â He hates it when I mention him, thatâs why I do it all the time.
ââŚand no one cares about him. Baby, are you going to be late to the Premiere?â Dustyâs voice turned serious. âThis one is important! The Swains will be there and Evangelyne is dying to meet you.â
I could feel the blood drain out of my face as I really didnât know what to say. Dusty slipped into a bathrobe as he waited for my reply. âShe says she knew your mother and sheâs been very curious about you.â
âAh darling, sheâs not lying. My mother made a film with her called, âThe Danger Girls.â Unfortunately, she disappeared before the Premiere,â My throat tightened as I struggled to regain control. âAnyway, yes everything is ready. My team will assemble at noon tomorrow to deliver to the people exactly what theyâre missing at your Dusty, old Premiere. Le Scandale will touch down with full force.â
Dusty made a vomit noise as he replied, âDusty old PremiereâŚand Iâm the bitch?â
That one probably stung a little I thought as I stared at my manicure. Why does nail polish chip so easily in New York? Is it the moist air? Dusty continued, âBaby you need to be ready because the Swains. I meanâŚcome onâŚthatâs like the A list had a baby with the founders of Hollywood.â
âEvangelyne is old enough to have founded HollywoodâŚthatâs true,â I wasnât trying to sound dry but seriously Dusty always vexes me. Heâs brilliant and a complete ditz all at the same time.
âMeow, someoneâs claws came out quick.â He said with enthusiasm. I swear I could hear his thick, bushy eyebrows raise. Dusty intentionally left them unkempt because he always said that it helped his masculine image.
âWhy, Dear Dusty, must you find them so imposing?â
Dusty stared around the room to ensure that no one was listening.
âItâs not really them, itâs her,â he admitted quietly.
âEvangelyne?â My face looked like someone just farted.
âYeah, babyâŚsheâs very strange,â Dusty confessed.
It was hilarious to me as I chuckled, âLike everyone in LA!â
âNo, like no one Iâve ever met before,â he said, the amusement gone from his tone. âShe doesnât allow anyone to look her in the eye. Itâs like an unspoken rule that everyoneâŚI meanâŚEVERYONE obeys without question.â
âBut you just couldnât help yourself,â I teased him with a tone that was half jest half threat.
âIf you leave me for that fossil, I will transfer my revenge fantasies from Betsy to Dusty. And trust me this is not some fuckery that even you can withstand.â
âWhy is every woman in my life so terrifying?â he sighed.
âNOW SHEâS IN YOUR LIFE?â Oh my GAWD he is making me INSANE!
âBaby, donât be like that!â
Dusty stumbled for a moment and then he realized that I was just doing what I always do, realigning the conversation back to its natural born centerâŚME. He was for an instant impressed by my social skills, I could hear it in his voice, but the burning encounter was brewing as he replied, âFirst off. No one is more perfect for me than you. Secondly, you know that I love being the object of desire.â
âI would have never guessed,â I drawled dramatically as my eyes rolled so far into the back of my head that I could see my brain.
His tone shifted, âBut this was different. Evangelyne and I shared a love scene.â
âWHAT? YOU MENTION THIS THE DAY BEFORE THE Premiere!â I needed sedatives.
Dusty allowed the silence to settle as he stared around the room once more making sure that no one was listening. âDarling, it was literally like being strip searched at the TSA,â he finally whispered.
âSomething tells me that youâd welcome that,â Dusty loves for me to picture him naked. He does it all the time. Yes we all know you are so extremely hot.
Suddenly he wasnât a ditz anymore, âShut it. No, I had to meet with her intimacy coach, which by the way is scarier than her.â
FINALLY a glass of wine from an attendant. I kicked off my Manolas and cozied into the oversized chair. My tiny frame has the cuteness of a child in this positionâŚor so Iâve been told.
âIs it like an old woman with a Transylvania accent?â I asked, trying to lighten the mood.
We both laughed nervously, âNo, itâs a man and that would be Jay.â
âHow mortifying!â I replied through brittle laughter.
âI know,â Dusty groaned. âThe entire session was basically like, âmake my wife look like the most desirable woman in the world. But donât enjoy yourself too much!ââ
âOkâŚso you did what you do better than anyoneâŚâ I figured the poor thing needed some recognition so I whispered seductively, ââŚseduced her.â
âI mean, I didnât mean to turn her on,â he defended weakly.
âIâm gonna hang up now,â I threatened him because if I didnât he would spiral out of control. And you think I have a big head?
âNO! You have to hear this.â Dusty pleaded. I love it when heâs desperate. Itâs honestly so rare for a man of his massive stature and fame.
If my expression didnât say, âthis wine glass isnât going to refill itself, then the finger snap to that passing attendant most certainly did the trick, âIâm listening. Go on.â
âOk, the scene is set on a rooftop terrace. They shot it at their penthouse in downtown LA. Itâs very nice by the way and they invited us to their party next week.â
âDUSTY!â
âOh, sorryâŚokâŚso Iâm supposed to climb out of a swimming pool,â he rushed to explain.
âHere we go,â I measured with a sigh.
âI nailed it by the way. Total Greek god energy,â Dusty insisted.
âOf course you did. So, sheâs wearing this elaborate bathing suit with a matching, sheer sarongâŚâ I could only imagine what this fossil dressed up as to seduce my boyfriend.
âYes, what you said. So I lounge in this over-sized chair with her and playfully start unbuttoning this sheer cover.â
âWhatâs her body look like?â I mean, I was curious. Like, whatâs under all that Versace?
âNothing special. But sheâs in great shape for a woman her age.â
âOh this is worse than I imagined. Sheâs got a sick body? Sheâs older than dirt. Did you see any birthmarks that look likeâŚI dunnoâŚ666?â
He ignored my incredible sense of humor as he continued, âSo I graze my finger along her very angular jawline and I tilted her chin up so that her eyes met mine.â
âAnd you saw a huge scar from a 1980âs face lift?â I scoffed like a trial attorney. In my mind I swear I heard tension violins!
âStop. Nevermind,â Dusty muttered, sounding defeated. Clearly Iâd been too bitchyâŚagain. Mission accomplished.
âDusty, the plane is about to take off and I need some rest otherwise Iâm going to look like Evangelyne should have looked tomorrow!â
âHer eyes were glowing,â he blurted out.
âYou said the same thing about mine.â
âNot glowing pretty. Glowing red!â
âWaitâŚwhat?â I felt the needle scratch off of the record in my mind.
Dusty looked around again, remaining silent as the costumer exited. He whispered, âWhen I kissed her, I swearâŚit was so lowâŚâ
âWhat was?â Now Iâm literally leaning in to hear whatâs next with wide eyed enthusiasm.
âShe growled at me. LikeâŚgrowled.â
My expression was beyond stinky, âLike, I want to yum yum you?â
âNoâŚit was worse than that,â Dusty breathed out.
âOh DustyâŚâ I felt like a cat in a bucket of water at this point as I flipped on the air vent above and stuck the receiver in its hiss and yelled through the noise. âBaby, the plane is taking off. My receptionâŚâ
You may think itâs terrible that I hung up on him but I donât care. My hands were shaking. And I am terrible, thatâs already been established.
I glanced out the window for a second and felt a freeze. Those amber eyesâthe same color as mineâwere staring at me through the glass. My breath caught as I leaned closer, but as the plane shifted and the light changed, I realized it was just my own reflection and most certainly not a woman with a gorgeous afro.
Is my halcion playing mind tricks on me?
The story is set in 2026 and follows Delphine Devereaux. When she was a kid, both her parents suddenly disappeared, leaving her in her strict and religious aunt's care and with a massive fortune, as her mom was a Playboy bunny and film star and her dad a genius inventor, who made a fortune with Metalister, a fabric lighter than silk but stronger than steel. After a difficult childhood with her aunt, Delphine went on to go to fashion school and became a designer.
One night she gets visited by the goddess Nyx, who gives her a magical perfume and shows her a secret passage leading to a room her father used for Project V before he disappeared. There she finds a robot explaining everything to her. Her mother was kidnapped by vampires, which are secretly planning to take over the world, and her father wanted to rescue her. She then created a superhero alter ego called Narssica and plans to take down the vampires.
I really loved the writing; it was gripping and had a really nice flow. I was totally engrossed in the story and couldn't stop reading. I just needed to know what was going to happen next. The story was also really funny sometimes, especially the interview with Evangeline, one of the vampires.
I also really liked that Narssica addressed the reader from time to time and her character in general. As it was from her perspective, the reader gets to hear her inner thoughts, which gave one the impression of really getting to know her, and they were also really funny too. I also loved how she always described the scents she was smelling and how she always knew the perfume someone was wearing. I also loved how she was describing what the people around her were wearing in detail, without it hindering the flow of the story, as it was just really fitting her character.
I also loved the plot twists, even if I saw them coming. For me, the ones I saw coming were the best, as it was really funny to wait for the characters to catch on. Throughout the story there were riddles, and I loved to decipher them.
I really recommend this book for those searching for a totally engrossing superhero story.