Woah guys my view count is 1234 I love when numbers go in order YAY!

Anyways, next chapter! Here we have Aspen's makeover… Yay. It's a bit longer than usual, at about 4,000 words which isn't incredibly hug or anything but I hope you guys enjoy it!

Thanks to XOStarbrightXO, milo ashby, Sora Kalopsia, and Cookiedoodles! Your continued support means the world to me, I love you guys so much!:)

Here's chapter 9!

The limousine pulled up in a circular driveway and dropped us in front of the palace, which is unlike any building I've ever seen. It's a mustard-cream châteauesque with slate shingled roofing, and lush northern red oak trees surround the driveway in threes. The wings of the palace stretch outward, but I know that there's more of a W-shape to the building from pictures online. Each window to the wings (plentiful, of course, and they glint the sun like mirrors) is reflective and colored a spotless cobalt, with cast iron terraces and windowpanes of painted black. And this will be my home, either permanently or until I'm eliminated. I'd prefer not to think of the latter as a possibility, and I really don't need that kind of negativity with the building nerves in my chest. Obviously, my heart is racing and my mind is swimming with contempt and giddiness, but I can't help but feel a bit of panic, not knowing exactly what to expect.

I watch as Serephina (and the rest of the girls' aids) lugs our suitcases in through one of the doors on a wing to the left, and Ivy perches her designer sunglasses (Vera Wang, she told us) on top of her brightly colored head, looking like a total movie star. The black double doors in the front of the palace are thrown open as a woman, who couldn't have been five years older than the oldest Selected, fixes her navy pencil skirt, hugs her clipboard tight, and speed walks over to the four of us. Her golden hair is tousled, and her sharp cheekbones indicate that she's not the type of person to smile. Her deep brown eyes, though really pretty and surrounded by thick, dark lashes, are hard and cold. As she approaches, she opens up with a loud throat-clearing.

"Ladies Dupree, Smirnov-Athans, Brandon, and Marx, if you'll please follow me." She says, before spinning on her heels and stalking off. Ivy follows quickly behind, and the rest of us struggle to keep up. "I'm Avery Caxton, the Selection's Coordinator. You girls are the sixth group to arrive out of eight, we need to get your Before Shots, meet your maids, and it'll take at least an hour to complete your makeover. Right this way."

The palace corridor blurs by in a mess of butterscotch onyx and golden candelabras, too hard to take in in the split seconds I have. Silk champagne roses and white peonies blossom from golden-grey spun glass vases, with intoxicating fragrances suffocating me with their scent in every passing hallway. Avery tried to give us a very brief tour of the palace, but I could barely hear what she said over the commotion and bustling servants. I vaguely recall hearing about a Great Room and a Retiring Room; the Men's Parlor and the Women's room, and floor-to-ceiling glass door wall displaying the most exquisite garden I've ever seen.

My awe is cut a bit short upon being shoved into the Makeover Room with the other girls. I actually feel a bit like suffocating (or at least, gagging) from the smell, but my mind reels with a different type of excitement. Instead of freshly cut flowers, the studio reeks of clashing perfumes. I recall that the Selection's Coordinator, Avery, saying that we were group six, so the majority of the rest of the girls are either currently getting "redone" or are already finished. Considering there's no flames licking the vanities (not sure exactly how flammable perfume is), or bullets raining from the sky, or any screaming, I let my mind relax a little and calm down.

"Now, Ladies, please take a seat in each of these chairs here, in front of the backdrops… Lady Clio, if you could stop itching your nose for just a second, and Lady Ivy, I think we'd prefer if you remove your sunglasses, thank you." And click, and click, and click. Quick snapshots are taken one after the other, far before I'm ready. I'm almost sure my eyes are closed during my photo. "Alright, thank you girls." Avery smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. Holding the clipboard out in front of her, instead of pressed to her chest; she turns to the stage manager. "I'd like Lady Ivy at station seven, Lady Natalyn at station one, Lady Aspen at station four, and station eleven is clearing up… If you could take Lady Clio there." And just like that, we're ushered away.

"Here's station four, Lady Aspen." One of the stage managers, acting as my usher, informs me as I take a seat on the white wood vanity chair. "Your personal stylist is just finishing up at nine, she'll be over in a minute or two, and she'll bring your maids over when she's ready."

"Alright, thank you, sir." The stage manager smiles and walks back to join the camera crew.

I'm not really sure what to do, though, while I wait. My phone is with the stuff Serephina brought to the left wing, and I don't have any books on hand, so I'm stuck. I spin the chair around a little; admire the florescence of the light fixtures in the otherwise dark room.

"Are you still waiting?" I wheel around to see the voice coming from behind me. It's a tall, thin girl (one of the Selected, I quickly realize) with clear blue eyes and glossy chestnut waves, a clear sign of a real, talented blowout.

"Yeah, but I'm sure it'll be any minute now."

She laughs. "Sure, probably!" We spin around absentmindedly. "My maids are out getting me an outfit, I guess. I'm really hoping soon; these robes are super silky but super thin." She rubs her arms for dramatic effect. "I'm Giselle, by the way." Whelp, already knew that. "Giselle Knight, from Denbeigh."

"I'm Aspen Marx, from Waverly." I smile, happy to have made another friend. "So how did the, you know, making over part of this go?"

"Well, I'm a five, so they had lots of work to do." She chuckles. "Florists can't afford Mani Pedi's whenever we want, and hair cuts every six weeks."

"Yeah, I get it. I mean, I'm a four, which up on the system by one and everything, but we're still one of the lower castes, technically." She smiles, understanding.

"Right, yeah! So you understand! And because I've never done anything like this before, it was a little stressful and a little more than weird. I mean, they threaded my eyebrows… I think it's a serious improvement, obviously, but it was a new concept. Before fifteen minutes ago, I had only heard of plucking and waxing and I'd never done either! They treated my eyelashes and my hair to make them both thicker or something like that. But look, now every time I blink I create tornadoes!" Now I'm really laughing. "I don't know, that's about it I think."

"Alright… That doesn't seem too terrible! I think I'll be ok."

"Ok? They have to do, like, nothing to you! You're gorgeous: before you told me you were a four I could have sworn you were a born two!"

"Oh my god, stop it!" I blustered, feeling a thick blush cover my cheeks and forehead. "What about you, I remember your Report photo and I swear you were one of the prettiest girls announced."

She smiles and rolls her eyes. She opens her mouth to rebut, but three young women in navy miniskirts and matching cap-sleeved blouses swarm her. From the amount of girls in the room in similar uniforms, I assume they're her maids. And as Giselle is already dressed by the time my personal stylist comes by to discuss my image, I get to see her outfit. She actually looks stunning, in an off the shoulder clary sage green shift dress that makes her eyes look greyer, and pale tan suede lace up heels with cutouts. She has a gold watch and matching gold bracelet stacked on her right wrist, and little diamond studs in both of her ears. Classy, simple, and casual: maybe this'll be a lot more fun than I'd originally thought.

After Giselle is ushered away, promising to catch up with me later, I only have to wait another two minutes before my stylist arrives. "Lady Aspen, I think we can afford to take it in quite a few directions here." She tells me, getting right to business. She's a blonde woman, her hair falling just past her shoulders with frizzy bangs. She wears a professional looking black and charcoal pantsuit, complete with shoulder pads and the whole regalia. She's tiny, more than half a foot shorter than me, and aged into her late thirties to mid forties range. She seems nice, but she has frown lines. "The true question is, how would you like to come off? This makeover is really about enhancing who you are, so who are you? Would you describe yourself as creative? We could make you seem arty: with items that are more handcrafted and unconventional. If you see yourself as an intellectual, we can go sophisticated, clean and polished. You can go chic, high fashion, and expensive, or more simple with bright colors and a "girl next-door" look, as well. Were you thinking of any style in particular?

"I don't really know," I admit. "Maybe kinda chic, but a little more layed back than that. I'm sorry, I really wish I could help more but I haven't really thought about it."

My stylist chuckles, "I guess that just gives us more to work with, then." This makes me excited. Ever since Giselle told me everything went swimmingly for her, I've decided to get into the spirit of things. I can just picture it: my own personal Fairy God Mother, bippity-boppity-boo reveal, as part of my magical Cinderella Story. There's so much that could happen! So much that this hour could turn me from the every-girl from Waverly to the girl that every other girl wants to be. Insides warming and a smile sitting unmoving on my lips, I let myself be carted away. I'm rushed by women who scrub me of any dead skin I didn't know I had, and when that's over, I'm drenched in oil and lotion. My skin glows golden after, but I feel practically raw. While I change into the same, grey silk robe Giselle was wearing half an hour earlier, they throw my hair up in a sleek bun to keep it from my face while they wait to wash it, and in the mean time work on my nails. I've never been a fan of bright colors or anything, so I ask them if they can paint my nails French, which they get right to. The stylists paint my toes a more neutral color, because my outfit hasn't been picked out yet, and push all the cuticles back. My eyebrows get waxed, as well as my lip (which hurts like nothing I've ever I've ever felt, and are left splotchy and red in reaction, until one of the stylists rubs some sort of special lotion on it to reduce inflammation).

Next, the girls remove the clip from my hair and let my waves fall down my back. They tilt me back in a chair and rinse me down, before washing and conditioning with Moroccan Infusion silk amino acids. They trim my hair a bit (just to make it look more refreshed; I refuse to cut more than two inches off my hair at one time) and spray it to make it even shiner than the shampoo had. You know, it's kind of funny, though, because I haven't cut my hair in years. Not since the –rather unfortunate- bob incident of eighth grade. I used to love keeping my hair short, actually, but that was the year I found out that during the Vietnam War, special forces in the war department had sent undercover experts to comb American Indian Reservations looking for talented scouts: tough young men trained to move through rough terrain and had near-supernatural tracking abilities. After they got their military-grade haircuts, through, it was all lost, and after multiple experiments conducted by the United States government, it was discovered that the men with their natural, long hair retained these keen senses and outstanding abilities, while those who didn't were at the mercy of their environment, as their skills had evaporated. I gathered two conclusions from this: the United States; government, during the Vietnam Era, was not to be trusted, and keeping my hair long could potentially increase awareness and survival instincts, and even though I was just a thirteen-year-old white girl living in a safe neighborhood and a safe country, I thought I'd never get my hair cut again. My mom wouldn't have this, of course, but I got away with no haircuts for years. Frankly, it's a wonder my hair isn't teeming with split ends, but apparently I'm OK and only get one and a half inches off (for whatever reason, I never found my hair gross. But I guess I didn't even realize there were repercussions to long hair, besides taking forever to straiten it). After shaking it dry, my hair is blown out to make it fluffy, then promptly curled tight. I like how it catches the light, which I can see from the mirror. They told me that I had natural highlights and didn't need to color my hair, which I find somewhat of a blessing. A few other girls I've seen here have gotten high or lowlights, or even partially changed their color. The stylists twist and braid my hair into an intricate updo, with baby curls falling loose from my head.

The next batch of beautifiers comes to do my makeup. I don't object when the makeup artist asks me if it's ok to use all these cosmetics I never have before, but I'm no stranger to makeup and I figure it's ok if she uses more than I usually would. My face is soon smothered with primer, liquid moisturizer, bronzer, contour, eyebrow pencil, mauve matte lipstick, eyeliner, and mascara. My lips feel caked and dry, but the finished result is astounding.

Finally, as I'm allowed to remove my robe, I'm guided to a double-sided rack of dresses, my (completely dry) mouth parted slightly agape. There's a few week's worth here, some glittering and others not, in a million fabrics I could never name if you put a gun to my head. I take a few minutes carefully considering each dress (day dresses, the attendant called them, and each specifically tailored for me. The evening dresses are upstairs already) before choosing a number in toned down aquamarine, with a flat pleated tulle skirt, a cinched waist, and spaghetti straps. It has climbing champagne lace on the bottom half of the bodice, which are made of these half-sequin fabric things. After trying it on, I find that it's a bit shorter than I though, but then again, with my long legs, everything seems much shorter than it would on anyone else. The hem reaches the hallway point between my hips and knees, and once they're paired with the nude three-inch stilettos, the dress looks sexier than the girl-next-door look I was expecting. However, as it's not too revealing, I declare the dress perfect and wait to receive the rest of my accessories. Apparently, hairstyle is an important factor in wearing jewelry, and the updo I wear accents a pair of gold feather filigree dangly earrings, which match my dress, and a thin gold ring with a small crystal. The attendant pins a silver nametag on my left breast, reading Aspen. She then scurries off and tells me to stay put, but I don't wait very long. She returns with a box full of different colored bottles reflecting the light and sending color to the walls.

"It's necessary that you pick a signature scent to endorse, Lady Aspen." She tells me. After a bit of an explanation, I gather that basically this whole "signature scent" concept is just that a wide variety of designer labels send in submissions for scents to be endorsed by Selected girls. I'd have to pick one perfume, and I might get opportunities to model for it if I'm asked, or at least the same tabloids reporting on my makeover would include things about what scent I'm wearing and where it could be purchased. I count twenty eight bottles in the box for me to choose from, and after the attendant sets it down on the vanity, I get to smelling each, separating the ones I like from the ones I don't. I finally end up choosing Dark Kiss, a fragrance by Penn Cullen Cosmetics. It's dark and sensual: a mysterious blend of voluptuous berries, tempting blooms, sensual incense and night musk for a daring and seductive smell. Fragrance notes include Mirabella plum, black raspberry, amber, peony, vanilla bean, and sensual musk. I think it's perfect, and after a stylist sprays my wrists, neck, and has me walk into a mist, I'm given a slight push in the right direction and return to the backdrops to document the after-results of the makeover. A photographer takes a few shots, and blinking away spots, I get up to let the next girl sit.

My attention is pulled by a crew consisting of a young female cameraman and a charming older spokesman, at least fifty years old. A mic girl holds one of the gigantic speakers over the man's head and follows right beside him, pulling her headphones down to her neck. "Lady Aspen, could we have a word?"

"Yeah, of course… what is this for?"

"Your makeover special." The spokesman says. "On this Friday's segment of the Report, which will be your first live national appearance, each of the girls are going to have a bit of a highlight reel going. Depending on the success of this short interview, this may appear on live television. Don't be nervous, we might not choose to air it at all. Just relax and try to answer the questions calmly." I take a deep breath and nod.

The camera girl starts to count down from five. I quickly fix my hair before she signals that the camera's rolling. "Lady Aspen, you look very pretty today. Why don't you tell us the modifications completed in your makeover?"

"Well, my hair was cut a little. You can't really tell, since it's up, but I think the stylists did a really great job. Lets see, what else… They painted my nails French and my toes a nice neutral color, I got my eyebrows fixed up, they made my skin glow after a good scrub and some oils, and I have a good amount of makeup now." I retell, trying to think up all the things that have happened to me since getting to the palace. "Oh, and I have a very glamorous perfume: it's called Dark Kiss by Penn Cullen Cosmetics." I say with a smile, remembering my endorsement.

"Yes, great choice Miss Aspen." I tilt my head and smile wide, like I'm being photographed. "Could you tell us who you're wearing?" The camera pans so they could get a full shot of my outfit.

"Actually, I'm not sure. It's a very beautiful dress, though, and I love it."

"As do we. You look radiant, Miss." The spokesman commented. I blush a bit and feel like glowing.

"Thanks!" I snicker.

"One final question for you."

"Of course!" I exclaim. The interview hasn't gone bad so far, I'm excited to report.

"What are your current feelings towards meeting the Prince tomorrow?"

"Oh, this is any easy one." I give an easy smile and offer a contented giggle. "I've been looking forward to this for a while now, and lets just say I have high expectations. I don't know so much about the Prince yet, but I'm definitely looking forward to it."

"And… cut." The videographer says. The mic is relaxed and as are the shoulders of the spokesman, and the crew thanks me quickly before going to talk with the next girl. Seeing that I'm alone, I'm directed one final time to a group of the other girls.

"Hello stranger," Giselle giggles, tapping me on the shoulder to get my attention.

"Hey."

"Woah, look at you! Knockout… You look really great!"

"Thanks!" I smile. "So wait, did you get interviewed too?"

"Oh yeah, but they only asked me a few questions. I don't think I did so hot, the cameraman kept insisting that I must be a klutz because I tripped on my heel trying to give a little walk. But I mean seriously, it was just one mistake and literally I'm wearing four inches… What do they expect from a five? I swear, if they make me out as the ditzy, sweet, spacy one, I'll freak out. I am a very mean person, I just think they should capture that."

"Right, that's kinda what I've gotten so far from you." I agree sarcastically. "No offense, but you're kinda rude."

"Ha ha. Very funny." I smile at my toes. And as Giselle and I fall into easy conversation, I can't help but feel a sense of closeness that I never had with Blaire, or our other friends. It's painful to consider, but if, maybe, I can discover myself through a proper makeover and a pretty dress, I can discover true friends in this competition. It just makes me sad that it took coming to the other side of the country to retrieve and achieve something that hasn't been at my fingertips the whole time.

Credit is due to a woman named Sally, because she was the wife of a licensed psychologist who worked at a VA medical hospital with combat veterans suffering from PTSD from the Vietnam War in the nineties, and she was the one who wrote up the report about the long-hair thing with the Native People of America, and I copied a pretty good chunk about that, so credit where credit is due! I've always considered that rather fascinating actually, and as Aspen was in the beginning stages of development, I put together a facts board because I figured she was a girl who valued knowledge, prosperity and intelligence above almost everything else and she'd know a bunch of random facts, and this was the first one I pinned! Still think it's super cool.

Anyways, I'll try to post the next chapter quickly, it's already written out, and it has two other makeovers in it! Hope you guys are excited!

Make sure to review, I love your feedback and support and everything love you guys so much!

XOXO,

xx. Scarlett