Sienna wove swiftly through the tightly woven trees – a lady of the night – woman of darkness. Felling the evening breeze flutter through her long, flowing hair. She was on a mission, unsure of where she was going, but knowing what she wanted. It was clear in her mind, clear and deep in her thoughts. It pulled her forward towards her destination, a pulse of longing. She just had to reach to the other side.

The trees were growing sparser and farther apart now, a path was opening up for her up ahead, in two long leaps she was onto it. She broke through the trees and into a clearing. She was almost there, almost where she wanted top be. She heard a noise, but didn’t look, it wasn’t important – not now. She was almost within reach, she could see her goal. In the middle of the clearing sat a lone cloaked figure. She approached with rapid speed, but came to a close a mere 5 feet away. She came to see that the figure was a young girl with a small gold chest. The girl opened the chest and in it was a tube of lip stick. Not just any lipstick, Retrofuturist, the lipstick which belonged to the goddess of love. Sienna took this as a sign, it was meant to be. The lipstick was handed over with no hesitation. The Cloaked girl dropped her hood to reveal herself to Sienna. She was the goddess of love personally delivering the Retrofuturist. Sienna’s hard work, persistence, and never giving up on her goal is what she admired most and won her the prize.

Everyone gathered around the swimming pool. Underwater lights made it shine like turquoise cellophane. Georgia and Darius pointed out a garden wall made of moulded whorls and cornucopia. On the other side of this unusual feature lay desert, seamed by rows of nameless cars whizzing toward a cloud of billboards and lit up words sparkling in the night sky. The guests breathed in cool, fresh air and listened to the city’s distant buzz.

Darius’ daughter interrupted his latest anecdote about the industry. His friends tried not to stare when she emerged from the bungalow wearing a belted coat. She barely resembled the child star on the peeling placard some of them remembered from the abandoned section of the Hula LaBora highway, the golden girl from Pomeranian and the Kid.

Stresses of early fame and subsequent cancellation of the hit show had affected her health. The family moved to the hills above the city and she grew up in private, protected from tabloid scandal. Rumours of her instability still reached the supermarket broadsheets, some of them implicating her parents in her difficulties.

“Maria honey”, Georgia said, “don’t you want to change back into your pyjamas? And where are you going with that suitcase?”
Maria didn’t answer. The guests couldn’t deny that she looked beautiful, like a heroine from a nineteen forties film updated with science fiction fingernails and a crystal burst hat
“I’m leaving” she said, “Lee is picking me up”.
“Go back inside and rest” said Darius, angered by the break in atmosphere, “we’ll talk tomorrow”.
“No” his daughter replied.
“We’ll talk tomorrow” Darius repeated. Maria didn’t answer and pulled a lipstick tube from her coat pocket.
“Honey, why are you using makeup?” cried Georgia. Her daughter twisted the bullet upwards. The guests silently applauded when she calmly slicked a shade that matched the swimming pool over her lips. “No way”, they thought admiringly, “no, she didn’t”.

The entrance to Club Retrofuturist was framed with holographic unicorns and big security guards. The line to get in snaked around the block twice. But Vera Williams walked right through the front door, no questions asked.

She wore a skin tight strapless red dress, and, of course, hot red lips. She felt quite at home among the pulsating red lights of the club. To other clubgoers, Vera seemed to have a mysterious power over the place. She could have any drink she wanted, free of charge, and her favorite music was always playing.

The reason that Vera had such a power over Club Retrofuturist? Simple. She owned it.

“Oh yes she did,” Melinda grinned at her reflection in her bedroom mirror. She had never dared to go out in public like this, but tonight was going to be the night. It was the night of the Charity Gala for the New York City Unicorn Reserve, and everyone was saying that it would be the party of the decade. And Melinda was going to be there.

She could hardly believe it. A year ago, she never would have thought she would be here, in her New York City penthouse, getting ready for an extravagent party. She wore a hot pink puffy ball gown, a sparkly purple tiara, a turquoise heels. Her lips matched her shoes, and this was her favorite part of the outfit. As she left her apartment, blue lips smirking, Melinda knew one thing: she was going to knock ‘em dead.