With Sally, depression became more and more like a wild fire, uncontrollable and ferociously destructive. Once she would start, she'd have the chance of a snowball in hell of stopping. The most noticeable changes were slight, if there at all. A few wrinkles that hadn't been there before, and an age spot or two tainted her pin-up beauty. Standing in front of the mirror with nothing but under garments and fishnet stockings, she saw this. In three days time, she'd grind her teeth and wipe away tears as she found more and more hidden flaws. She'd cry that they weren't so hidden, and she was getting older by the second. But for now, she mustered up a sparkle in her eye.
She turned this way and that in front of the mirror, looking at her shape from the side, and the front. Here and there, she'd sneak in a pose, and spread her unpainted lips in a wide, public-winning smile. There was nobody there to compliment her, tell her that she was a doll. In ten seconds, less skin was visible, though not enough to be considered modestly dressed. She hadn't worn her costume in years and hadn't been this confident in even longer. The bustier squeezed and molded her body into a curvy silhouette that begged for attention and called out for greedy hands to wander all over her. Tonight, she would go to see the one person who appreciated it more than any.
In restless dreams, I walked alone...
Narrow streets of cobblestone.
Sally Jupiter fastened the tops of the stockings to the garter, adjusting them until they pulled on the fabric just right. If the bustier didn't do the job, a black waist cinch finished it. In 1938, Hollis pulled the laces tight the first time because Sally kept fumbling. Now, she had no trouble and would do it with her eyes closed. How many sacrfices could one woman make without feeling weak? She struggled to find an answer to that question and more. Around eight o' clock, Sally would have finished her hair and her makeup and once again becoming the dashing, the beautiful, the luscious Silk Spectre. She'd dust herself with a perfumed powder and flash herself one, last, hopeful smile. And there, she was. The only difference was she'd be leaving, and returning to her home alone. No agents, no publicity boyfriends to hold onto. This was her, and her alone.
_
"Miss?" The doorman's eyes scanned over her attire as politely as possible. Sally knew from Eddie, that this was not a costume to be politely glanced at. His wrinkled eyes swirled with a shy bewilderment, for all the previous encounters they'd had, Sally was modest and elegant. Far from what she was now. He pushed open the door without another word. Sally merely smiled, and walked out onto the sidewalk. It glittered underneath the passing cars, streams of light racing by. Living their own lives and thinking their own thoughts - nobody looked at her. Hot pangs of angst ripped through her stomach, forcing her eyes to harden. She jerked her hand up into the air, and waited, until a yellow car skidded up to the curb with a wet screech. It had rained again.
"I'm visiting an old friend."
Those were the last words she said to him, before she slipped into the backseat of the cab, swallowing the lump that had arose in her throat. The door slammed shut and Sally crossed her nearly-bare legs over the other. Uttering an apartment complex, she leaned backwards, reveling in the coolness of the leather for just a moment before her body heat began to warm it. The driver knew exactly where it was and hungrily looked at Sally's chest for a minute too long. Absentmindedly, she crossed her arms underneath her breasts and closed her eyes. When the cab would pull away, she'd pretend the tears that clouded her vison weren't there.
Neath a halo of a street lamp,
I turned my collar to the cold and damp.
