Ami took a look at the shirt, frowned, and slid it down the rack. She did the same with the next shirt, and the one after that, until she had rifled through the whole rack of clothes. This was the third store she’d checked out today, and she still had yet to purchase even a pair of socks.

  Fashion had never been something she’d given much thought to in the past. Mostly, she bought whatever clothes seemed the most comfortable and wouldn’t stand out too much. Going shopping in general was a rare activity for her—one she usually engaged in out of necessity rather than pleasure. Buying clothes was an errand to run, a way to get ready for the weather of a new season, more than it was a way to express herself.

  She wasn’t blind to the fact that this made her unusual among magical girls. Even beyond their transformation outfits, most magical girls were deliberate about what they wore. Some girls were basically professional models who fought Cruelties as a side gig, but even the average magical girl would dress up as if to close the gap between their transformations and how they appeared in their daily wear.

  It made sense when you had fans who held certain expectations of you. You couldn’t be transformed all of the time, and as you took on more work that didn’t involve fighting Cruelties, you’d be in the public eye more and more often. It’d be too funny if someone like Adah went on a variety show dressed in a bright pink puffer jacket. Like, what the hell, this is Twilight Heartbreak?

  Thinking about all of this had convinced Ami that maybe it was time she started paying attention to how she dressed, too. She wasn’t going to obsess over the color of her nails or little details like that, but she thought that maybe a little bit of effort could go a long way. Everyone at their agency finally had some decent pocket money, so why not spend some of it trying to figure out what her own style was? If she was putting in all this extra effort into training, it made sense to do the same in all the other aspects of being a magical girl.

  She didn’t want to wake up one day and regret cutting corners. Becoming Untethered would require her to think creatively, like Ketzia had taught them, both in battle and outside of it.

  So, here she was, using her Grace-mandated day off to buy a new wardrobe. She had taken a bus to a shopping center a few towns over from their agency office. This was one of those outdoor malls built around a fancy promenade with a bubbling fountain and a gas fire pit that turned on in the evening. The shops that lined the promenade were on the expensive side, but Ami had hoped that would make picking out clothes easier. She had always assumed fancier stores catered to people who were in-the-know, so they wouldn’t stock anything lame or outdated.

  There were closer places to buy clothes, but she wanted to go somewhere her teammates wouldn’t join her and where she was less likely to be recognized. Even if she’d made up her mind, this whole process was a little embarrassing. Mostly because she was having so much trouble deciding what to buy.

  Now that she was here, Ami kind of wished she did have the help of someone like Adah. She had a good eye for fashion. She had even drawn up her own transformation outfit, and Ami loved the way Twilight Heartbreak looked. Adah probably would have been happy to help, but Ami still felt this was something she should handle on her own.

  It was part of standing on her own two feet, of separating herself from Emi. Well, maybe not separating, but at least being seen as her own person. As her own magical girl.

  In some sense, letting Adah pick out an outfit for her was the same as being Emi’s shield. It’d be yet another part of her identity that only existed because of someone else. If someone ever complimented her clothes, she’d think like: thanks, but my captain choose them for me. Maybe that was stupid of her to think, but she couldn’t help it. She’d rather someone make fun of clothes she picked herself than be praised for clothes she was just wearing like a mannequin.

  Ami moved to another rack in the store. This place was a boutique, filled with racks of unique shirts, pants, and dresses instead of shelves piled high with a dozen sizes of the same item. She had entered hoping the variety would make finding something she liked easier, but so far she was still empty-handed. She usually picked her clothes based on how comfortable they were. She had a hard time picturing how different tops and bottoms would pair with each other, and trying on a dozen options until she found something she liked seemed like such a waste of time.

  Wasn’t there someone you could pay to think about this stuff for you?

  As if heeding her call, the shop’s clerk approached Ami with a soft smile. It was the middle of a weekday, so foot traffic throughout the shopping center was light, with most of the visitors concentrated in either a café or restaurant in the middle of the promenade. Ami was the only customer in this particular store.

  “If you have questions about any of our items, I’d be happy to answer them,” the clerk said.

  She looked to be a few years older than Adah, and held herself with an air of confidence that Ami always associated with proper adults. Her hair was tied with a violet ribbon in some complicated braided bun—if that style had a name, Ami didn’t know it. She had on a vaguely yellow floral pattern dress that fell down to her knees. The dress itself was loose, but she’d tied another purple ribbon around her waist to contour it closer to her body. On top of it all was a deep purple cardigan, just a shade darker than either of her ribbons.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  Ami decided instantly that this woman knew her stuff when it came to fashion.

  “I don’t really have questions about the clothes,” Ami said. “More like questions about me.”

  “Are you looking for an outfit for a particular occasion?”

  Ami shook her head. “The opposite. I need stuff I can wear all the time, but different than what I’m wearing now. I just don’t know what would look good on me.”

  The clerk looked Ami up and down. Ami had gone out in the same kind of clothes she’d normally wear—a plain long-sleeved shirt and jeans. It got the job done.

  The clerk’s eyes were gentle, with no judgment behind them. In fact, they lit up a bit once the woman had gotten a full view of Ami.

  “You’re lucky,” she said. “Most of your height is in your legs. Anything you wear that accentuates that is going to look good on you. You don’t even need to change what you have on—you could just style it differently. Tucking in your shirt will show off those legs for you.”

  Why was that? Because her shirt was covering up the top of her pants? So the idea was that tucking it in would show off how tall her pants—and therefore her legs—really were. She could try a change that simple whenever. What about new clothes, though?

  “It’s getting cold out now, but a high-waisted skirt would work great on you,” the clerk continued. “If you get some thicker tights to wear underneath, you can stay warm and use the color contrast to make your legs stand out. That can be your foundation for every outfit: creating contrast below your waist. Color, how tight the clothing is, even fabrics. Then you can mix-and-match and get creative up top.”

  “Do you mean I can keep wearing the same couple of pants or skirts all the time and just change the rest of the outfit?” Ami asked.

  “Sure,” the clerk said. “There’s no point in buying a bunch of different combinations that you’re never going to wear. Find a couple pieces you really like for the bottom—clothes that you feel comfortable in. Then you can do your experimenting with the tops, layers, and accessories. If you find it fun, you can keep looking for ways to express yourself. If not, then you can stick with what you like and save yourself from buying a bunch of clutter for your closet.”

  That could work—it made everything simpler. If the clerk’s advice was solid, then it was a good long-term solution, too. Ami wouldn’t have to spend hours looking through every rack in the store any time she needed to buy something new. She could go in with a plan, and look for clothes that fit this foundation the clerk had explained.

  The best part was that this advice gave her just enough direction to go and pick out an outfit herself. She wouldn’t be anyone’s dress-up doll, she’d choose what she liked. But now she’d have an idea of what might look good.

  “Thanks,” Ami said to the clerk. “How do you figure all this out? Fashion or style or whatever.”

  The woman giggled and started searching through the clothes hanging from a nearby rack. She pulled out an olive green jacket, something like a cross between a military field jacket and the blazer Ami wore during her transformation. She held it up in front of Ami and tilted her head.

  “There are some basic rules you can learn,” the clerk said, “like what we just talked about. But the real fun is figuring out what works best on each person. Everyone’s different. Some people want to wear clothes that reflect who they feel like on the inside, and other people wear clothes that help them close the gap between who they are and who they want to be. Some people just want to wear whatever breaks the rules.”

  She set the jacket back on the rack and shrugged.

  “They’re just clothes, though,” she said. “You have to wear them all day, so you might as well wear ones that you like.”

  “In that case,” Ami said, “I wish I could stay transformed all the time.”

  The clerk cocked her head again. Her face perked up, her obvious interest lifting her whole expression. Meanwhile, Ami felt her own face turn flush.

  It wasn’t like she had a secret identity or anything, but half the point of coming out here was to not be recognized as a magical girl. Now she’d gone and outed herself unprompted.

  “You’re a magical girl?” the clerk asked. “That’s so exciting! I wish you’d told me from the start—I’d love to help you pick out some cute outfits.”

  She’d done enough already. Picking the clothes out for Ami would defeat the whole point.

  “Thanks again, but that’s okay,” Ami said. “Your advice was awesome. That’s all I really needed.”

  “Now that you mention it,” the clerk continued, “you do look familiar! You’re one of the twins, aren’t you? Raindrop or Dewdrop!”

  Although it was still a little exhilarating to be recognized as a magical girl, Ami couldn’t help but be annoyed when it played out like this. It happened more often than not. Even when she was transformed, people would remember her as “one of the twins.” Or worse, they’d think she was Emi. She didn’t expect strangers to be able to tell them apart by looking at them, but it was frustrating that most people didn’t even try.

  It made her want to tell them: “I’m not ‘Raindrop or Dewdrop,’ I’m just Dewdrop! Just Ami!”

  Ami loved her sister. Hell, that went without saying. But anyone who knew them at all would know that they were completely different from each other. Being mistaken for Emi, or lumped in with her, made Ami feel like she wasn’t being recognized at all. It was more like the concept of “twin magical girls” was being recognized.

  She knew there was only one person to blame for that. These people could only know as much about her as she’d given them. If it was easier for them to group her together with Emi, or to mistake her for Emi, then it was because Dewdrop hadn’t made a deep enough impression on them.

  Sometimes it felt like an uphill battle. Standing out from every other magical girl was enough of a challenge. Standing out from one who looked just like you, who you always fought alongside, who you wanted to share fans with… that felt almost impossible.

  The two desires played tug-of-war in Ami’s heart. The most fun she’d ever had in her life was when she was fighting next to Emi. Yet, she didn’t want to spend the rest of her career being “one of the twins.” How could she break away from her sister while also staying near?

  As Ami tried to come up with a reply to the clerk, all the lights in the boutique went out. The low, mumbling music that had filled the store vanished. The ambient humming of the shop’s electronics and ventilation also went silent.

  Sunlight still poured in from the windows, leaving the boutique half-illuminated, like Ami and the clerk had returned home to an empty house after a vacation.

  With a small squeak, a plump seahorse popped into existence in front of Ami’s face. Her aquamarine mascot, Noon, spoke to her.

  “I fear you may need to transform,” Noon said. “A Cruelty is on its way here.”