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Description
Priscilla Thripp loved fashion. But fashion didn’t always love her. Meek, shy and suffering crippling self-doubt, her only real outlet was to emulate the style choices of those who surrounded her at the fashion magazine where she worked as PA to the Editor in Chief. However, Priscilla always found herself weeks behind everyone else. She became the butt of every joke and counted herself lucky on the days she was merely ignored. She was little more than an irritating fly on the wall. Which is how she came to overhear so many conversations she shouldn’t have. Gossip and rumours and the salacious details of lives she wished were her own. And the one day, she heard so much more. It seemed there was a reason her boss was always at the cutting edge of fashion: theft. She overheard her boss’ phone call with a criminal gang who were going to raid the docks and pass along key items of interest. Priscilla gasped. And that was her undoing. In that moment, three thing happened. Firstly, Priscilla caught her own reflection in a nearby mirror. She realised how utterly powerless she was to do anything. Secondly, her boss heard a noise and hung up the call, heading for the door behind which Priscilla stood. Thirdly, Priscilla’s own reflection spoke to her. The mirror-Priscilla told Priscilla how week and worthless she was how nothing she did could matter. Because that’s how she let people treat her. But she could stand up to them. She could be powerful. She could be dangerous. The EIC opened the door…and Priscilla was gone. That night at the docks, Priscilla hid in the shadows with a camera. When the goons arrived with guns and started taking over the unloading of the crates, Priscilla saw her chance to strike back at a world that had never cared one jot about her. She took her photos and planned to sell them to a paper, making money from her boss’ undoing. And then she was spotted. She was grabbed and tossed into a crate until the big boss arrived. There, in the darkness, Priscilla wept. And the voice of her other self chastised her. Was this really how she was going to die? Crying in the dark? Or was she going to fight? Hurt those who hurt her? And there, in the dark, she found a brooch. Not knowing what it was, she felt compelled to pull it close. With only a chink of light to see by, Priscilla realised the brooch was shaped like a silver wasp. She put it in her pocket just as the crate was torn open by the gang leader. Her boss. Not merely an accomplice, but the ringmaster herself, she laughed in Priscilla’s face. Then, without a second thought, shot her and tossed her body into the water. And that it how Priscilla Thripp died. The brooch is how she lived again. Empowered by mystic forces, Priscilla rose again. This time however, she was not meek and mild. Now she spoke with the voice that had only lived in her head. The next day, she strode into work with swagger and style. Turning head and shocking everyone. But most of all, shocking her boss. She laid the photos of the night before on the table and threatened blackmail. The Editor in Chief crumpled: Priscilla could have whatever she wanted. When Priscilla left the office she was wearing a new designer dress and stunning jewellery. Her old boss was left in her underwear. That night the boss and her goons came to Priscilla’s tiny waterside apartment and tried to kill her. Priscilla was waiting. With inhuman speed and agility she took about her would-be attackers and through them into the sea. She saved her boss for last. She looked into the eyes of the woman who has made her so afraid for so many years. And she saw fear. Priscilla laughed. The woman sank to the seabed. And from that day on Priscilla Thripp took a page from her former boss’ book and led a double life. By day, glamorous socialite and fashionista, by night, a mastermind thief of the shiniest most enticing jewels and dresses the city had to offer. She did it all with the help of the brooch she always bears. The brooch that gives her inhuman powers. The powers of the wasp gods.

Description
Priscilla Thripp loved fashion. But fashion didn’t always love her. Meek, shy and suffering crippling self-doubt, her only real outlet was to emulate the style choices of those who surrounded her at the fashion magazine where she worked as PA to the Editor in Chief. However, Priscilla always found herself weeks behind everyone else. She became the butt of every joke and counted herself lucky on the days she was merely ignored. She was little more than an irritating fly on the wall. Which is how she came to overhear so many conversations she shouldn’t have. Gossip and rumours and the salacious details of lives she wished were her own. And the one day, she heard so much more. It seemed there was a reason her boss was always at the cutting edge of fashion: theft. She overheard her boss’ phone call with a criminal gang who were going to raid the docks and pass along key items of interest. Priscilla gasped. And that was her undoing. In that moment, three thing happened. Firstly, Priscilla caught her own reflection in a nearby mirror. She realised how utterly powerless she was to do anything. Secondly, her boss heard a noise and hung up the call, heading for the door behind which Priscilla stood. Thirdly, Priscilla’s own reflection spoke to her. The mirror-Priscilla told Priscilla how week and worthless she was how nothing she did could matter. Because that’s how she let people treat her. But she could stand up to them. She could be powerful. She could be dangerous. The EIC opened the door…and Priscilla was gone. That night at the docks, Priscilla hid in the shadows with a camera. When the goons arrived with guns and started taking over the unloading of the crates, Priscilla saw her chance to strike back at a world that had never cared one jot about her. She took her photos and planned to sell them to a paper, making money from her boss’ undoing. And then she was spotted. She was grabbed and tossed into a crate until the big boss arrived. There, in the darkness, Priscilla wept. And the voice of her other self chastised her. Was this really how she was going to die? Crying in the dark? Or was she going to fight? Hurt those who hurt her? And there, in the dark, she found a brooch. Not knowing what it was, she felt compelled to pull it close. With only a chink of light to see by, Priscilla realised the brooch was shaped like a silver wasp. She put it in her pocket just as the crate was torn open by the gang leader. Her boss. Not merely an accomplice, but the ringmaster herself, she laughed in Priscilla’s face. Then, without a second thought, shot her and tossed her body into the water. And that it how Priscilla Thripp died. The brooch is how she lived again. Empowered by mystic forces, Priscilla rose again. This time however, she was not meek and mild. Now she spoke with the voice that had only lived in her head. The next day, she strode into work with swagger and style. Turning head and shocking everyone. But most of all, shocking her boss. She laid the photos of the night before on the table and threatened blackmail. The Editor in Chief crumpled: Priscilla could have whatever she wanted. When Priscilla left the office she was wearing a new designer dress and stunning jewellery. Her old boss was left in her underwear. That night the boss and her goons came to Priscilla’s tiny waterside apartment and tried to kill her. Priscilla was waiting. With inhuman speed and agility she took about her would-be attackers and through them into the sea. She saved her boss for last. She looked into the eyes of the woman who has made her so afraid for so many years. And she saw fear. Priscilla laughed. The woman sank to the seabed. And from that day on Priscilla Thripp took a page from her former boss’ book and led a double life. By day, glamorous socialite and fashionista, by night, a mastermind thief of the shiniest most enticing jewels and dresses the city had to offer. She did it all with the help of the brooch she always bears. The brooch that gives her inhuman powers. The powers of the wasp gods.