Episode 2

In a small yet very cozy room, packed with vintage furniture, there was a scent of old-fashioned makeup and a hint of dusty wood. A jewelry box with golden patterns sat slightly open. Nearby lay a brush, blush, a comb, and a powder compact. In the mirror — a girl in a traditional Russian costume, who didn’t recognize herself. Her bright pink braid was neatly styled and tied with a ribbon. Lipstick trembled in her hands.
Gloria took a deep breath and finally ran it across her lips, trying not to look herself in the eyes. The motion was uncertain, like a schoolgirl sneaking into her mom’s makeup bag for the first time. But the reflection still stared back — with stupidly wide eyes and a bashful blush. She — once George — was now putting makeup on her own lips. Lips that felt too soft, too feminine, too... foreign.
'So here you are, revolutionary. Dreamed of changing the world — and ended up in a skirt, putting on makeup before a ceremonial parade...' she thought to herself. Just then, a girl peeked into the room holding a folder. It was Carmen again, but now out of uniform, wearing a white blouse and a knee-length skirt.
— Almost ready? — she asked matter-of-factly, offering a restrained smile. — The parade starts in forty minutes. You didn’t forget who you’re representing today, did you?
Gloria didn’t answer. She just looked at herself in the mirror. The kokoshnik — ridiculous, huge, sparkling with golden threads. The makeup. The red dress, hugging her breasts and waist tightly. Every seam, every stitch felt like it had been made solely to highlight her new, completely feminine figure.
— Russian culture, — she whispered barely audibly.
— Louder, — Carmen said firmly.
— Russian culture! — she nearly shouted, feeling her tits twitch unpleasantly from the sudden tension, and remembering all those lectures on how a proud representative of the October youth should respond. — I represent Russian culture at the International Festival of the Internationale.
Carmen nodded.
— Good. Remember — you’re one of three girls trusted with the traditional segment. That’s a responsibility. And an honor. Don’t embarrass us, Gloria.
'Embarrass?' — Gloria almost laughed. If only Carmen knew just how far she’d already embarrassed herself. In two months in this world, she hadn’t just stopped being a man. She’d learned to walk in heels. Smile when someone complimented her. Hold down her skirt when going up stairs. And a couple times, like in a bad dream, she’d even... giggled at some guy’s jokes.
— Did Jeffrey send it? — Carmen suddenly softened, stepping closer and handing Gloria a note.
Gloria swallowed.
She carefully unfolded the small, neatly folded piece of paper. The handwriting was neat, rounded — the kind boys use when they’re trying to impress someone. “I’d really love to see you after the parade. And don’t worry, you’ll definitely be the most beautiful one today, especially if you don’t forget that lovely smile of yours. — J.”
Gloria felt a chill run down her spine, and her cheeks flushed with heat.
— What’s that? — Carmen leaned in, raising an eyebrow slightly. — Or are you feeling sick again?
Gloria quickly folded the note, as if hiding something shameful. Her lower belly clenched instantly. The soft fabric of the bodice shifted, and her boobs, tightly hugged by the bra beneath the dress, strained under the weight of her breath.
— It’s... nothing. It’s just — he... — she hesitated, and didn’t even want to admit to herself that her voice didn’t sound irritated or disgusted, but rather... shy. Almost feminine.
Carmen gave a soft nod, not prying further.
— The main thing is no fun before marriage, but you already know that — Carmen said it almost automatically, like something obvious, and was already turning to leave, leaving behind a scent of perfume and a trace of strict upbringing, as if she’d just stepped out of a propaganda film.
But Gloria had already turned sharply toward her, feeling the dress tighten slightly over her breasts. Her heart was pounding like crazy.
— What are you even talking about?! What wedding?!— Gloria burst out so suddenly that Carmen stopped in the doorway, glancing back with a surprised sternness.
— Are you seriously asking that? — she replied calmly, but with growing suspicion in her eyes. — You’re almost 20, you’re on the path to joining the Union of Young Families. It’s... a natural step. Especially when it’s someone as promising as Jeffrey.
As if everything Gloria had already gone through in this Soviet-American paradise these past months wasn’t enough — where nothing was like she used to imagine. Where she had to wake up on a strict schedule every morning, put on a uniform, do gymnastics, write reports on “internal growth” and attend lectures on “labor virtue.” Where every girl — or rather, every “young pioneer” — had to know how to embroider properly, bake a festive pie, and dance folk dances, and the idea of just sitting on a bench and kissing another girl — that was too terrifying to even imagine. And she still liked girls. Boys were disgusting to her.
— But... what if I... well... what if I don’t want to join your damn union... with him, — Gloria whispered, though her whisper trembled with tears. — What if I don’t like any of the boys at all?
Carmen gave her a cold, evaluating look, paused for a long time, and then spoke slowly, almost syllable by syllable:
— I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that, Comrade Rivers, only because you’re currently in a special emotional state before an important performance. — Carmen squinted. — But if thoughts like that come up again — doesn’t matter who hears them — I’ll be obligated to report it to the Committee for Ideological Integrity. You do understand what that means?
Gloria nodded. Quickly, like a mechanical doll. The lump in her throat wouldn't go away. She knew how all of this sounded from the outside. And she knew that even this inner confusion of hers was already — potentially — a deviation. Her life had turned into an endless theater, where she had to play a role... she never chose.
Carmen stepped closer and, for the first time, seemed to speak like a real human being:
— You have to understand, Gloria... There are things we just have to accept. For society. For the future. For order. You’re smart. You don’t want to be sent into “restoration,” do you?
— No... — she barely got the word out. Anything but restoration. Anywhere but there, where they send those who’ve “lost commitment to the ideal.”
— Good, — Carmen slightly straightened her shoulders. — Breathe in. Smile. Today, you are the face of our culture. Everyone will be looking at you. Everyone will be proud.
Gloria lifted her eyes. In the mirror was that girl again with the bright braid, the scarlet dress, and the obedient, forced smile. The one they all expected to see.
— I can do this, — she said out loud.
But inside, she added: 'or I’ll go insane.'
And beyond the wall, the sounds of the orchestra were already echoing. Soon it would be her turn to step out.