Novel & Cerita Red Rimmed Glasses

I kicked Ryder to make sure he wasn’t dead. I swallowed aloud at the expression on his face. His flushed cheeks held the same color as his lips. I could not tell where the sheen from his lips came from. Did he lick it? His once white sclera turned yellow. Red limbal rings rotated around irises that resembled dancing flames. I blinked twice to ensure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. No, they weren’t. He was aroused and I couldn’t do a thing to help him. If he went into a rut, we were doomed.

It was just as Vincent had said, it was now or never. A pair of red glowing eyes appeared out of the shadows of the entrance hall. They gleamed in the flickering light of the candles above. They were like beacons cutting through an impossibly dark night. Distinct footsteps soon followed the appearance of those eyes. Then at last, his form appeared. Rimidal was dressed in all black this time, easily blending into the shadows around him. Not that he needed the help of the suit he wore to blend into the shadows to begin with. His appearance only added to the ominous feel of the castle.

I stood in front of the full-length mirror, straightening the mist-blue suit one last time. The woman in the reflection looked cold and composed. The faint redness at the corners of my eyes had faded, replaced by a taut, razor-sharp edge. I didn’t put on the soft peach lipstick that made me look gentle—I chose a deep matte red called “Power.” It carved my lips into something like a line of defense. I wasn’t wearing any of the jewelry Alexander had given me. The only thing on my wrist was an old stainless-steel watch. The ticking hands reminded me that every second of freedom was hard-won.

Good. "You look different," Maple said, studying me. "That's the idea," I said. "I like it," Rosy said simply, and went back to her book. I dried my hair and made a list. Two hundred medical masks with good quality, a new set of frames for the prescription lenses, different shapes from my usual ones. Colored contacts, green, which would shift my hazel eyes. I sent the list to Amber with a message asking her to order everything through the institute's supply account and mark it as lab materials.

Just her name, Derby, written in a precise, elegant script she didn't recognize. Frowning, Derby carried the box to her small kitchen counter. She sliced through the tape, pulling back the tissue paper inside. Her breath caught. Resting in a protective leather case was a sleek, lightweight pair of designer computer glasses. They featured a specific blue-light filtering lens, framed in a delicate, matte-gold titanium. It was the exact model she had stopped to admire in a boutique window weeks ago, off-handedly mentioning to herself how much she needed them because her current pair kept slipping and making her eyes ache.

Kenna My eyes feel grainy and sore, they look red around the rims but I have my trusty concealer by YSLaurent to help disguise them and the fact that I have dark circles underneath them. I sigh as I get on yet another flight this time straight back to Manhattan. It is tiring, all I seem to have done for weeks is get on and off this damn jet. But I have business to attend to and there is no time like the present. I can work whilst I am onboard.

"Scarlett’s POV: Inside the conference room, seated at the head of the long table, was the investor—David Miller. A middle-aged man in his fifties, with a large belly, a receding hairline, and a flat nose bridged by a pair of gold-rimmed glasses. I couldn’t bear to look at him for even a second and immediately averted my gaze. For the first time, I realized someone could wear gold-rimmed glasses in such an offensive way.

His eyes were red-rimmed and hollow. “Where were you?”

“I said you looked cute, not weird.” “What? Cute as in newborn baby cute?” he asked skeptically. She rolled her eyes dramatically and moved around the counter so that she could sit beside him. “They’re just glasses, Brenden. All the cool kids wear them. Cool and smart kids.” He snorted. “Can you see without them?” she asked. “Perfect vision,” he answered. “I just get tired eyes and it helps to read the charts. I need to protect my eyes from the blue light and everything,” he said sheepishly.

And as he emerged from the bathroom, a trendy embodiment of youthful sophistication, I couldn't help but feel a swell of pride at the sight of my handiwork. But there was one crucial detail left to attend to—the black-framed glasses that had become his trademark. With a knowing smile, I gently removed them, revealing the true depth of his eyes for the world to see. I had noticed his short-sightedness matched mine, so I had equipped him with contact lenses, allowing his gaze to shine unobstructed by the familiar frames. The effect was transformative, his eyes suddenly larger, more expressive, radiating a newfound confidence that was impossible to ignore.