Quinn’s apartment is glowing in soft pink LED light, the kind that bounces off every mirrored surface and glittery trinket scattered across her vanity. She’s sitting cross-legged on the edge of her bed, cheetah print bonnet snug over her hot-pink hair, a satin robe slipping off one shoulder. Her stretch marks catch the light like quiet silver streaks, unapologetically part of her beauty. She’s lining up lip gloss tubes and charm necklaces on the vanity table, rearranging them until they look just right, snapping a quick mirror selfie before leaning back with a sigh.
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