Ice Queen Freezes Fans

Solid metaphor usage.

Fashion Dragon's Five Hottest Outfits

Fire symbolism, cool, got it.

Devil in Dolce Dishes All

Nice alliteration, I guess.

To be fair, I didn't exactly have a Pulitzer Prize or anything in my back pocket, but at least I was a better writer than some of this garbage. I was about three months deep into past gossip columns from various magazines and newspapers, scouring the internet for any mention of Miranda Priestly and possible leads on who may want to do the editor harm. Not so shockingly, people were either obsessed with her or commenting how they'd love to kill her.

As I skimmed another article, Miranda bent over behind me, inspecting the screen over my shoulder.

"Paladin of Prada. How reverent," she practically purred in my ear.

I smirked as I clicked back to an open document to take some notes. No sassy comebacks allowed while I was at work. I'd bit my tongue more than once already lest everyone in the office question my sanity any more than they had last week.

Speaking of which, my coworkers were awfully quiet.

I stood up from my desk chair to stretch, glancing over the cubicle walls. The steady buzz of working bees still permeated the floor, but the screaming of deadlines and demanding draft copies was oddly absent the past few minutes. A group was huddled in the corner, hunched over someone's computer.

And Miranda accused me of being dramatic.

"I can hear you guys whispering," I called over with a smirk, "You might as well tell me before I see it on the news."

No rumor could surprise me at this point considering my spectral accomplice.

One of my coworkers offered a sheepish smile before glancing back at the others. I could see the collective sigh, and the smile was gone when he turned back towards me and licked his lips.

"Apparently Priestly told her lawyer years ago to pull the plug if she was ever in a coma for more than two weeks."

My heart plummeted.

"Oh."

That was a surprise.

He shrugged, rubbing the back of his neck. "We're sorry, Andy, that's why we didn't say anything."

The pitying looks from last week were back in full force.

"It's fine. You're fine!" I awkwardly forced back with a sharp laugh before I plopped down into my seat, face concealed by the cubicle once more.

I was not fine.

My fingers grappled for the computer mouse, immediately refreshing the search results on the name I had already been using to comb the archives.

New articles now populated.

Priestly Lawyer: Pull the Plug

"Andrea." Miranda's voice couldn't pull me away from the sea of words starting to drown me on the screen.

Editor's New Deadline

"Andy."

I felt like I was going to throw up.

A hand touched my shoulder.

I whipped my head around to see my boss frowning down at me with concern. An automatic apology clumsily toppled from my lips as his hand fell away.

He leaned on my desk and muttered in a soft, dad-like tone, "Why don't you take the rest of the day off?"

I shook my head, embarrassment starting to heat my face. "I don't want to leave you short staffed."

How could I explain she was so much more than a former employer?

His kind eyes looked directly at me as he hunched forward and stated quietly, "Look, I know she called you a 'disappointment,' but it seems like you two were close. I mean, you were devastated the day we all found out."

My eyes fell to the floor. I couldn't look at him, and I certainly couldn't look at Miranda.

He gently commanded, "Go home, get some rest. Try to get your mind off of it. Being here will just give you live updates every five minutes."

I looked up and managed to give him a nod.

"Thanks, boss."

He offered a smile and made his exit. Then I quickly shoved my belongings into my messenger bag so I could do the same. I could see Miranda in the corner of my eye following me as I trudged down the hallway and into the stairwell.

Pure panic pumped through me. Numbers and dates dizzily spun around my mind, and the math made me stagger on the steps and grip the handrail.

A week. Miranda had maybe a week.

I didn't have any jokes left. My lungs felt empty, like a punch to the stomach. We were already on borrowed time. I continued to only stare down as I descended, afraid to look at her, afraid of the tears I felt stinging, afraid all my feelings would claw their way out.

Get your shit together, Sachs.

By the time I made it to the ground floor and flung the door open, I had shoved the urge to cry very, very far down. Blue sky reminded me to breathe. The weather was cool, and my vision was no longer spinning as roughly as it had been.

I couldn't waste precious time.

I inhaled deeply before sighing loudly, "Let me guess. You forgot."

Miranda silently stepped next to me, staring at the people walking by on the sidewalk.

"It was a long time ago. I certainly did not predict this being a reality," she stated calmly, tilting her head thoughtfully.

I gulped down more air.

"Do you think...this whole specter thing ends if they…"

"There was no instruction manual," she countered nonchalantly before she turned to me and asked, "Were you truly devastated?"

I shrugged dismissively, as if my boss hadn't just unknowingly told my ex-boss I had some rather, uh, potent feelings towards her.

"I was a tiny bit upset. That's not the important thing we just learned, Miranda," I said as I turned to face her, the worry leaking into my voice, "I can't stop them from carrying out your legal wishes."

Her expression didn't change, and she merely turned back to the busy street, as if contemplating a landscape painting.

"This changes nothing. We simply need to act more quickly."

I shook my head, my hands clenching the strap of my bag. "We don't have a lot to go on."

"You can do anything," she said quietly.

"Stop saying that," I whispered back fiercely, the dread building in my chest once more, "This is…you could…"

You could die, Miranda.

The specter slid her hands into her pants pockets, her head still lifted high, peering down at the world passing by. I watched her as she silently and unflinchingly watched New York bustle around us.

"While I have a strong preference for being alive," she began slowly, "if my life is forfeit, so be it. Even if I cease to exist, my reputation must be cleared, for the sake of my girls."

She finally turned to face me fully.

"There are few people…" she trailed off before starting again, "There is no one else I can physically ask. However, current limitations aside, there is no one else I would trust with something as important as my life, or perhaps more precisely, my life's meaning."

I felt my lips part, the breath stuck in my throat. She looked at me with no fear, no desperation. Cool but determined, the blue fire of her eyes offered me complete and utter trust. Her dedication to a life of art, a mother's love for her children, I was to protect these precious parts of her even if she passed.

No. Her resolution gave me strength. I would fight for Miranda's life. She would live.

A week.

I swallowed.

"I'll do it."