A Completely Unnecessary Scene:
Girl fight!
One FMC to rule them all:
By Thio Isobel Moss
“You’re not wearing that to my book release party, are you?” demanded Lavinia Lovelace, hands braced on her hips as she surveyed Andina Chito’s slinky, backless gown. “It’s…gauche.”
“Your book release party?” Andina scoffed. “I’m the heroine.”
She twisted her dark, abundant hair into an intricate braid without looking, her reflection cool and unimpressed in the vanity’s mirror. “I’m the morally gray survivor with a suppressed but devastating power. Making me the female lead is practically contractual.”
Lavinia let out a crystalline trill that lasted far too long to be natural. “Don’t be absurd. I’m engaged to Prince Icarus. This is a political betrothal slow-burn with several betrayals and escalating yearning. The readers adore me.”
“In book one of a five-part series,” Andina shot back. “The heroine doesn’t start at the top of the food chain. She climbs. With knives. Preferably with superficial injuries and leaving a trail of her enemies’ blood behind her!”
“They’re here! Vinny! Andi! They’re here! Open the door!” came a muffled voice, bright and breathless from the other side.
Andina moved first, shoving Lavinia hard enough to send her sprawling. She lunged for the door—
—and went down with a yelp as Lavinia caught her ankle and yanked.
“Get off!” Andina snapped, rolling and immediately going for Lavinia’s hair.
“Unhand me, you draft-two rewrite!” Lavinia shrieked, scrambling on top of her. “Do you have any idea how long it takes to establish reader sympathy?”
She punctuated the question by trying to strangle her.
A fistful of blond waves came free with a vicious tug.
Lavinia froze. Slowly, she looked at the chunk of extensions in Andina’s hand.
“That took hours,” she said, voice trembling with fury. “What am I supposed to pin the tiara to, you stupid cow?”
“Your brittle, high-maintenance personality,” Andina shot back, wrenching free just long enough to have one strap of her mercury-colored gown snap in protest. The fabric slumped dangerously low.
“Cheap construction,” Lavinia sniffed, even as she clawed for leverage. “Very on brand for a back-alley power awakening.”
“Never mind!” the voice outside chirped, ever cheerful. “I managed to pick the lock!”
The door burst open.
The two women barely noticed. They were too busy rolling across the stone floor in a tangle of limbs and shredded silk—biting, clawing, and attempting to monologue.
“I have—” Lavinia gasped, elbowing Andina in the face, “—three separate longing glances before you’re introduced—”
“I have a six-page trauma flashback—” Andina wheezed, headbutting her, “—in chapter four—”
The little maid slipped inside, beaming, a heavy box balanced in her arms.
“Oh!” she breathed, nudging the door shut with her foot. “They’re here! They’re here. They’re actually here!”
She set the box carefully on the table and drew out a pair of sewing scissors, her hands trembling with excitement. For a moment, she glanced over at the two women wrestling on the floor—took in the broken hair ornaments, the torn fabric, the single tooth skittering across the stone—and then, with quiet decisiveness, turned her back on them.
It was best not to get involved when they were like this.
Paper rustled. The lid lifted.
“Oh,” she whispered, reverent.
She drew the book free and pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes shining. “We get dragons.”
She spun in a small, delighted circle. “I hope I get to ride one. That would be incredible—but…do you think that would be rude to ask? I wouldn’t want to offend them.”
“Who cares?” Lavinia snapped, just as Andina managed to slam her face-first into the wall.
The maid winced. “Oh! Oh dear. Another tooth…”
She hesitated, genuinely concerned—then shrugged. It wasn’t like they could do lasting damage—unless it were written into the story, of course. She held their book a little tighter, in awe of its beauty.
Andina staggered upright first, breathing hard, dress barely covering the necessary bits. “Give me that,” she snarled, snatching the hardback from the maid’s hands.
Lavinia lurched up beside her, one side of her coiffure noticeably diminished. “Finally,” she panted, smoothing what remained. “Let’s put this nonsense to rest.”
They looked.
Prominently posed on the cover was the maid—wide-eyed and breathless—caught in the possessive gaze of a darkly forbidding warrior. A dragon wheeled overhead, vast and magnificent, its shadow swallowing the horizon.
The maid blinked at them, hopeful. “Do you think they’ll let me name her? I was thinking Freckles… She has that dappling on her wings, see?”
There was naught but the silence of outraged crickets.
“I don’t understand,” Lavinia said faintly, leaning closer. “Where am I? That’s not Prince Icarus.”
Andina frowned. “That’s not even a court setting. Where are the wounded?”
They both looked at the maid.
The maid looked back, tapping the dappled dragon.
“She looks like a Freckles, doesn’t she?” she wheedled.
