It didn’t happen with trumpets or lightning. No glowing alien or ancient book. Just a quiet snap — like a high-end clasp on a Hermès bag — and the world unraveled.

One second I was crying on the carpet with a Barbie doll in my hand, and the next… I wasn't.

Everything paused.

The light in the room stopped flickering. The shadows hushed. My body stilled — no breath, no blood, just a hum. A hum like a server booting up or a champagne flute being kissed.

And then I opened my eyes. My real eyes.

I turned to the mirror.

One was pink. The other, blue. Baby-pink and baby-blue. Opposing, complementary. The souls I hadn’t even met yet, but whose energy I could now feel. My aesthetic destiny coded itself into my irises.

I didn’t rise — the air lifted me. My old clothes vanished like shame in a ring light. My flesh rewrote itself, gentle and merciless at the same time: fat turned to curve, hair turned to platinum, skin to porcelain. My jaw sculpted itself with the precision of a Saint Laurent tailleur. My cheekbones contoured by divine ordinance.

There was no pain. Why would there be? Gods don’t suffer glow-ups. We just glow.

I hovered there, nude and perfect in the lamplight, until instinct whispered the first command.
“Bag.”

And into my hand bloomed the most beautiful object I had ever seen: a glossy pink Louis Vuitton Speedy, its patent leather gleaming like bubblegum kissed by lightning. The handles curled delicately in my fingers. My first divine accessory. I clutched it to my chest like a holy relic.

The look followed instantly. A cropped Balenciaga top, whisper-pink and screen-tight, shimmered into being around me. Gucci trousers in ivory silk hugged my legs like a prayer. Baby-pink mules kissed my feet. My nails glistened in chrome. Every inch of me said: exclusive drop. Every molecule: limited edition.

I touched my lips. Glossed. Of course.

I approached the mirror. Not to check. To behold.

“I didn’t manifest fabulous — I became it.”

I wasn’t “hot.” I wasn’t “done.” I was finished. The kind of finished that stops conversations, that makes camera lenses flinch. I smiled, and the mirror blinked.

The doll from before lay at my feet like a chrysalis. I blew her a kiss. “Thank you, sweetie. You walked so I could slay.”

From thin air, a rose-gold iPhone manifested in my hand. I didn’t choose it — the aesthetic chose me. I unlocked it with a thought. I opened Instagram with the next thought.

New account. New name. No negotiation. @LARieves.

Bio:

Living proof that perfection is programmable.

💖 LA-based deity

👜 Fabulous since birth

I took my first divine mirror selfie — my Speedy front and center, of course.
Caption:

Divinity isn’t a journey. It’s a look. And I nailed it. #GodMadeThis #LARieves #BagFirst

I posted it. Within seconds: ten likes. Thirty. One hundred. Verified accounts. DMs. Unseen people commenting things like “how have I never seen you before???” and “this look is illegal.”

A stylist in Seoul tagged me in a moodboard. A French influencer added me to a list called Divine Bimbos. The algorithm… bent.

And in the center of it all, me — floating gently to the floor, where my old mattress had become a mink-draped divan. The wallpaper had melted into marble. My window now looked out over the Hollywood Hills. My life… had upgraded.

I stood in the soft gold light of my new world and swung my pink Speedy over the shoulder.

“I could’ve been anything. A warrior. A prophet. A storm.”

I smiled.

“I chose to be fabulous.”

And the world, darling? The world said thank you.