Immortals can never take too long for first impressions.
That’s what I tried telling myself, but after you’ve spent three hours in front of a mirror on the verge of a breakdown, it starts getting a little embarrassing.
This was my first time attending anything fantastical—I’m discounting skipping prom to get hammered at Ben’s mansion. The only fantastical part of that was how I managed not to die while guzzling as much booze as they would allow. My mortal self was really a train wreck.
This year was different. Tonight was New Year’s and the local Mythical Creatures, Witches, and Warlock Association of Manhattan was hosting a party. I had even received a personalized invitation delivered by an animated mailbox familiar, alongside a frankly irresponsible amount of spam. Either the poor bo
