One day she held out hope that she, too, would be harder to read. One day.

For now, she had to live with almost every damn emotion crossing over her face and offering a helpful handbook to whatever she was thinking at that moment to anyone who cared to look.

She didn't bother answering, just stepped over to a changing stall. Another mirror hung directly in front of her when she stepped in, which Kathy was considering a personal insult and then she was closing the curtain firmly, making sure it didn't gap open by accident.

Or even by 'accident.'

And then if she took a few seconds to rest against the wall, breathe, and tell herself to chill, that was between her and her god. By the time she opened the curtain again, dress on and snug in the bodice, flaring at her hips in clean lines to her thighs, she appeared at least a little calmer. "Does it look weird showing my tattoo?" she asked, gesturing to the circle of stark black and red ink on her right shoulder.