Two days. Forty-eight hours. That’s how long I’ve been holed up in this pink room. That’s how long I’ve not seen or heard Ms Pink. Not a single word. Not even through our telepathy. Given that half of that time was spent sleeping, that’s still quite a lot of awake time to be deprived of Ms Pink. But I’ve not been left entirely alone. Seo was assigned to stay close to me, ensure I take my meals and take general care of me. So in this way, Ms Pink is still with me.

Sunny and I have called each other too, so I got to talk to her and hear about her wonderful weekend with Summer. I had to be vague with my description of myweekend with Ms Pink, or Tiffany rather. And Sunny had been delighted when I told her about Ms Pink’s insistence that I call her Tiffany in private . . .

“It’s a huge step forward!” said Sunny in her high pitched tone of excitement.

“Yes, it is. But I don’t really like how it’s like an order from her. Like I have to call her Tiffany.”

“But Taeyeon, don’t you want to call her Tiffany instead of Ms Pink?”

“Yes, I do.”

“So the problem isn’t a big one. I mean, you want to call her Tiffany. She wants you to call her Tiffany. It’s just the way she said it that you’re not happy with.”

Sunny’s summary of the situation simplifies things for me and I see her point but Sunny doesn’t understand the complete world of Ms Tiffany Pink, the vampire Princess Pan Ni. She doesn’t understand how I have to struggle with being Ms Pink’s claim and the conditions that come with it.

As for the rest of the time, I am alone and silent or in contemplation with music playing from my phone. I’ve also done some drawings and painted my nails with the incredible collection of manicure tools that I found in the room. And skipped classes. (Ms Pink did not turn up to insist I attend them.)

Maybe the downtime is good for me. I certainly need the time to think. It has been a rollercoaster ride since the moment I saw Ms—Tiffany holding Yuri up against the wall with just one hand. Vampires. Baits. Vanguards. Sovereign members. More vanguards. Borens. Yenews. The Park triplets. The Federation. And blood. Lots and lots of blood. Blood shed. Blood taken. Blood lost. And a beheading by bare hands to top it all off. It almost seems absurd that I am able to lie here on Tiffany’s pink bed. Tiffany. It doesn’t feel right somehow. Tiffany. I’ve called her Ms Pink for so long (just a month but it feels like a decade) that Ms Pink seems more natural to me. Yet the way I feel about Ms Pink now compared to the early days . . . is as different as the north and south poles. That is to be expected too. I mean, there’s nothing like going through literally life-death situations to forge a bond between two hearts. Sabotaged helicopters, vanguard assassinations, triplet abductions . . . just how much can a human brain take?

But to me, the real question would be just how much a human heart can take.

X

It would appear that Seo is quite done with my inactivity, judging by the way she is hauling me up from bed this morning. And when I say haul, I mean hands under armpits, yanking my entire body out of bed and standing me on the floor, thus reminding me that she too, is a vampire and possesses supernatural strength. She then hauls me into the bathroom and leaves after saying just one word: Wash.

Staring at my face in the mirror, I am shocked to see how desolate I look. There is no life in my eyes, no blood in my cheeks, no smile in my lips. I have become a living zombie of a human. I splash water on my face and step into the shower to rinse the death out of my hair, scrub the sloth out of my limbs, and it makes me feel a little bit better. As my skin awakes to the cool water and warms to the bath gel I swab all over myself, my mind is coming out of the fog too.

Forget the Federation. Forget the Sovereign. Forget the fact that I am a vampire’s claim. Forget the Erika lying dormant inside me. I am Taeyeon. A human. Still a student in university. A person with a future. With hopes and dreams. I have always wanted to be an illustrator. A designer. When did that fall into the background? My pulse begins to quicken as I step out of the shower and towel myself dry. The wounds on my arm remind me of the harrowing experiences I’ve had in the past few weeks but I push those thoughts aside. They will not distract me from what I should be doing. I know what I should do.

Seo is waiting for me at the dining table with breakfast laid out. “Eat,” she says and that’s what we do. When we are done, Seo hands me a pink envelop. The question in my eyes does not receive an answer from her so I open the envelop with shaky hands, suddenly dreading the content inside. It turns out that my dread is uncalled for. It is an all-pink invitation to a fashion show. Ms Pink’s fashion show. Her winter collection. This is the show that Summer mentioned some time ago. So Ms Pink must have disappeared because she is preparing for this event. I begin to understand but that does not translate into a better mood.

“Ms Pink has arranged for you to get your hair and makeup done. Your dress is also ready.”

“My dress?”

Seo nods. “Ms Pink has designed a dress especially for you.”

My heart beats faster at the thought of wearing such a precious dress. “When did she design it?” I can’t think of a time when Ms Pink had time for this.

“Over some time,” Seo replies. She stands and beckons me to do the same. “Your hair stylist is here. Follow me.”

X

Several hours later, I emerge from the rooms with a new hairdo, freshly massaged and oiled skin, manicured nails and makeup that made me take a second look at myself when I looked in the mirror. Feeling out of sorts after being subjected to an afternoon of pampering, I follow Seo to a room that is literally a walk-in wardrobe. Clothes, including dresses and gowns hang all around us but they all pale in comparison to the dress hanging in the middle of the room.

Oh my pink lord. The dress is beautiful. Elegant. Gentle. Simple. Yet complex and uniquely detailed. But what takes the cake. What really surprises me is the colour. The dress isn’t pink. The dress is not even red. The dress is blue.

Flashback to the first time I met Ms Pink. The interview. She offered me an internship. I politely refused. The words I said to her back then are still vivid to me. High definition, high resolution. Sharp and clear. I had said to Ms Pink: I don’t like pink. I prefer blue.

Ms Pink remembers. Whether the credit for her excellent memory is due to her vampirism or something else, I am still gay as a lark. Holding hands and skipping around kind of gay. So right there and then, I forgive and forget. All I can think about is the blue dress that Ms Pink designed for me. My eyes trail over luxurious silky cloth, drinking in the charming deep sea blue. They stop to admire the intricate gathers at the top of the bodice folded in a near criss-cross design. Then they drop down to the waist that nips in and follows as it flares again, in a magnificent waterfall drop to the bottom. Imagining myself in this dress, walking around at Ms Pink’s fashion show, I develop a strong feeling that I’ll probably be able to emphatize with Cinderella at the ball—minus her evil stepsisters—after tonight.

Seo helps me with the dress and I stand before the mirror, speechless. The deep blue contrasts against my fair skin and newly revitalized blonde hair. The tube bodice wraps perfectly around my bust and the length, once I’m fitted on a crystal-studded pair of high heels, is just right. Such precision. Workmanship. Genius. Such