I Know That Dress Is Karma Perfume Regret の小説・ストーリー

“That’s why you’re wearing the dress I bought you for last year’s Christmas.” Her lips part, but no sound comes out. It’s almost funny—how calm I sound when inside, I’m burning like a slow, controlled wildfire. Calm on the surface. Heat underneath. Destruction pending. The dress is a white Oscar de la Renta, thigh-length, sleeveless. The very last one in Spain at the time. They were out of stock in every country that usually carried them. Only the elite had them. She wanted it. And back then? I was stupid in love. Stupid enough to flatten continents for her. Stupid enough to believe love was equal.

Not trying to… whatever she meant by drive him crazy. It was nothing like the generic soap I'd been using. The scent was floral, sweet, and sinful. I poured some into my palm and lathered it over my skin. It clung to my skin like silk. When I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, I reached for the nightdress. I slipped on the delicate fabric and instantly regretted it. The neckline dipped lower than I expected. My entire cleavage was open! Mama Cortez was right about the dress being one to get a reaction from a man.

[note to QI: above line says perfume too, so I kept this neutral/vague by changing to liquid] She then glared at me and asked, "Did you tamper with the perfume, Helena?" I shrugged my shoulders, looking completely innocent. "What on earth are you talking about? Why don't I understand what you're getting at, Queenie? Is it possible that your perfume has simply gone bad?" Queenie asked through gritted teeth, "Didn't you realize that the person who uses this perfume can't actually smell it? How did the perfume I gave you end up on my vanity, Helena?"

But Rakia immediately took the opportunity to carry out Dahstan’s suggestion while she waited for the man. Her mind was thinking about Dahstan and this boutique; she didn’t expect the boutique she visited often belonged to that man’s mother. Rakia was busy choosing a dress, but her mind was boisterous about Dashtan. She stared at the half-empty knee-length dress in pink and white with a simple newfangled cut with short sleeves. The material is soft and flowing, and the bottom of the dress is slightly fluffy, like an inverted lotus flower. The dress is simple but attractive. The V-shaped collar is bejeweled with small diamonds around the hem. Rakia smiled as she imagined herself wearing that

"How can you accuse me of something I haven't done. Today is the birthday you haven't even wished me. You are here blaming me for not wearing the dress my sister gifted me. But did you asked me why I did not wear it? I had decided to wear the dress, but when I was walking out to tear it off from the back. How can I wear a damaged dress for my birthday party? Won't I be humiliated? And you said it was expensive. But the material was of cheap quality. How can it be costly? The label on the dress was of Dior company. So I send the dress back to alter it. This dress was a gift I received at the last minute, so I wore it. I did not do anything wrong." Ketty stood there in disbelief. How can her d

The kind of outfit that would let Luca keep me in the shadows. On the right: The "Reckoning." It was a vintage, black mesh dress with strategic silk paneling that hugged every curve of my body like a second skin. It was short, it was provocative, and it left absolutely nothing to the imagination. It was the kind of dress that screamed for attention and demanded a price for it. I remembered the way Sophie had pecked his nose. I remembered the way Luca had let her pull him away while I stood there smelling like his sandalwood oil.

If I hadn’t involved Lily in that plan, she’d still be alive and fine now. Terrible regrets assailed me as I tried to hold back the tears prickling the corners of my eyes. This castle came with a lot of bad memories and if I kept dwelling on them then I might just tear them apart. “Alpha Hermes specifically picked this dress for you,” the maid holding the dress answered nonchalantly. “And warned me not to let you wear anything else. I’m sorry but whether or not you like it, you will have to wear it.” With that said, they dressed me up and doused me in a mist of perfume that made me cough violently because of how strong it was. After that, they packed everything they came in with and left wit

It was the kind of dress that said I'd made an effort without trying too hard. I sprayed my signature perfume, the one that made men lose their minds at Club Eden. The scent was bold, intoxicating: vanilla and something darker, more dangerous. Amber, maybe, or sandalwood. It was armor, in its own way. When I wore this scent, I became Spicy. I became untouchable. I stared at my reflection in the full-length mirror. My hair fell in dark waves over my shoulders. The dress made my waist look impossibly small. But my face, my face looked pale, my eyes too wide, like a deer caught in headlights.

I pulled out the absolute and completely un-disputed weapon of mass destruction. It was an stunning, incredibly deep emerald green silk dress. It was cut drastically shorter than anything I would ever, dare to entirely wear to the corporate office. It was designed to entirely stop a solid four inches above my bare knees. It hugged every single, solitary curve of my hips and completely, aggressively exposed my collarbones and shoulders. It was an absolutely dangerous, completely lethal dress. It was an entirely undeniable revenge dress. It was a dress actively meant to completely, entirely obliterate the memory of ever being called a cheap, completely forgettable pit stop.

he says as he grabs the laptop from my hands. He flicks through the online dress shop until he lands on a tight red ball gown with a sweetheart neckline. I stare at the dress and shake my head. That dress would cling to my every curve and show far too much cleavage. “I can't wear that.” “The theme is red and black,” Deimos grumbles. “You will wear this one.” Deimos clicks “add to cart” and buys it in a size too small. “That is the wrong size,” I tell him, trying to take the laptop.