Some Sort Of Spell

Rather grudgingly, Mirry agreed that she could wear her faithful black satin pumps, and somehow Beatrice found that she had allowed herself to be chivvied into her sister’s chosen outfit.

Mirry wouldn’t let her look at herself in the mirror until she had everything on. She gri

‘Honestly, Bea,’ she teased, ‘I’m your sister, not some rampant male intent on having his wicked way with you! Don’t worry so much. It’s not as though Elliott has designs on you either, but we want him to be proud of you, don’t we? You’re not doing this for yourself,’ she added with mock gravity. ‘Think instead that you’re doing it for the family.’ She assumed a soulful expression, and then spoiled the whole effect by giggling.

‘You know, you do have a really sizzling figure. You shouldn’t cover it up so much with those awful bulky sweatshirts and things.’

She tied the satin blouse in the requisite bow as she finished speaking and then gently turned Bea to face the mirror.

‘There,’ she said softly. ‘Now you can look.’

Bea didn’t know if she dared, but at last she plucked up her courage and studied her reflection.

Her legs in their black tights looked unfamiliarly slender, her ankles almost fragilely narrow. The skirt, rather too faithfully for her taste, followed the curvy outline of her hips, narrowing into her waist. The blouse… She could feel heat scorching her skin as she saw what the blouse did to her body.

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