Fire found Carrie in her dreams that night. Orange and red flames licked at her skin as a scream all to close to a laugh escaped her mouth. The pain was searing, melting her flesh away and turning her bones to ash. Carrie had never had a dream or a nightmare so vivid before, so familiar even, like she'd see it before or had lived through it. She thought it was hellfire because it consumed everything, and surely it was the fire of the apocalypse, but it wasn't. Though, it was a fire that belonged in the past.

The blood on her knuckles had dried, caking against her broken skin. Her limbs were sore and stiff from sleeping on the hard flooring in the tiny closet. Only minuscule salt crystals were leftover from Carrie's tears now as the sun awoke on the city of angels. Carrie found the door unlocked, sunlight seeping in through the split in the wood. The beam of light cut across the flooring harshly and the house was quiet. Dead quiet, actually. No music, no movement and no Margaret Moore.

It was Friday morning and when Carrie finally conjured enough strength to push herself out of the shadowed closet she fled into her bedroom. She knew she should be getting ready for school, but she looked down at her knuckles—bloodied and bruised—and she didn't want to face the students of Westfield High, not on the eve of prom night. It wasn't like anyone would report her absence, only Ava Gold, but the dark-skinned beauty would never dob in Carrie for playing hooky. Besides, Carrie needed to prepare for prom; she didn't have a dress yet and decided, with Margaret gone from the house, it was the perfect time to sort out that problem.

Margaret Moore had been even more beautiful when she was a teenager living in San Fransico than she was now. She'd been slim, but not skinny, and had hair that tumbled for days down her back in a hue that shone like amber when the sun was high in the sky. Margaret had moved to Los Angeles after she turned nineteen and wished of stardom on the silver screen. When she wasn't sitting in an audition line, she was parading around Hollywood in sundresses or soaking up the sun's splendour in Santa Monica. Margaret never booked anything for her ambition dimmed the second she met Carrie's father at the glowing Pacific Wheel on the Santa Monica Pier. Their romance had been spellbinding, instant and powerful, but the bliss didn't last long. Ralph Moore had been a charismatic musician but his career never found a footing (he went on to teach music), so he often turned to alcohol and violence. The violence was the worst of it that always landed on Margaret's skin. The woman believed her first sin was having sex outside of marriage when Ralph forced himself on her drunk one night as blue neon light burned through the window of the motel they were staying in before they bought a tiny and cheap house on a one-way street after they eloped when she was twenty. And that wasn't the last time Ralph would push open Margaret's legs with rough fingers.

Carrie searched through the cardboard boxes filled with the old sundresses from Margaret's youth in the basement. While Margaret didn't wear them anymore, she couldn't bring herself to donate them to the church's annual clothing drive. Even though her youth had been grubby, it seemed to glimmer now that she was middle-aged and divorced trying to raise a wicked girl.

Carrie ripped open another box, picking out dress after dress, looking for one that would suit a prom. And she found one in the next box. Hidden at the bottom was a dress of fine, smooth silk the colour of the sweetest blush. Her hands glided over the fitted bodice, the material fluid like water between her fingers. Michael had told her that she should wear pink. Yes, like the colour of your lips, his voice echoed in her mind and her skin flushed with heat, her blood hanging low in her abdomen. It reminded her of the kiss. Her first kiss. Michael's first kiss. And the ghost of his lips brushed against hers as she gathered up the dress, feeling giddy and as light as air as she hurried back to her bedroom.

The pink silk dress was perfect besides the long hem, for Margaret was taller than Carrie by a few centimetres. The teenage girl grabbed her sewing kit and set to work on altering the dress for her big night. Carrie sat by her bedroom window, the dress in her lap secured with needles and a threaded needle in her right hand, pushing and tugging through the thin material gently and with some skill and patience. However, no matter how hard she tried to remain focused on the task at hand, her eyes wandered to the house across the street. She felt like one of her gothic heroines, daydreaming about the handsome, dark stranger that entered her life so suddenly and unexpectedly, all the while mending a dress for a dance. She wondered if Michael was thinking about her and the kiss and what it meant for their relationship. Carrie had no prior experience—save for her novels—with relationships, so kissing a boy was all new territory for her. Terrifying and electrifying. And surely, the flower that bloomed in her chest for Michael Langdon, was what the authors wrote about with such aching bewitchment and bleeding hearts.

Carrie was so lost in thought, so lost in Michael Langdon, that she didn't hear the front door open and close. Didn't hear her mother's approach.

"CARRIE!" Margaret screamed, her kitten heels slapping against the floorboards loudly. The girl was rudely and sharply snapped out of her dream and the needle she was holding pinched into her index finger, welling of a droplet of carmine. "What are you doing with my dress?" Margaret marched towards her daughter, fury waking in her stride, and snatched the dress from Carrie's lap.

"I—I—didn't think you'd mind," Carrie said, stumbling over her words. "I needed a dress for the prom." Margaret's eyebrows shot up. Enraging astonishment contorted her face and she forgot about the dress in her hands.

"Prom?" Her voice was dead flat.

Carrie nodded, her happiness swelling inside of her again. She still couldn't believe someone—let around Westfield High's favourite jock—had asked her to prom. "Someone asked me to prom, Mama!" There was a note of gleeness in her tone.

"No." She shook her head, her amber-coloured hair shifting over her shoulders. "No. No. No. You can't go to prom."

Carrie's heart thumped painfully. "Why not?"

"Because it will be a mistake, a sin," Margaret stated, still shaking her head with such conviction. "It will only lead to sin. Boys only lead to sin, child!" While Margaret believed her daughter was wicked, cursed and meant for the Devil himself, she wouldn't wish her daughter to suffer the same fate as she had—falling for some boy who would only reap her of everything. Her promise, her ambition, her purity, and ultimately, her life.

"That's ridiculous." Carrie stood, stepping forward to make a move for the dress. "Tommy is kind and decent."

"You're not going to prom, Carrie!" Margaret shouted, her voice heavy and cold like stone.

Carrie couldn't stop the anger that unfolded in her blood. "I am going to prom, Mama!" she shouted back. Her mother had taken so much from her, robbed her of a normal life. Carrie wasn't about to let her dear mother take away her chance at having a normal and beautiful prom night with Tommy Ross.

"Over my dead body!" Margaret tossed the dress aside as she backhanded Carrie across the side of the face. Pain rattled at Carrie's head and shock enflamed the anger, charging it up with power that was locked away in her blood cells and her soul. Her cheek stung from the blow and surely there was a red handprint from her mother.

Carrie gritted her teeth, one eyebrow notching up as she tilted her head to the side slightly. "That can be arranged, Mother!" The words were cold and cruel like winter, but Carrie had always favoured winter.

"How dear you threaten me, child! May the Lord strike you down," she yelled back, lifting her hand to slap Carrie again.

The teenager acted out of instinct, her hand flying up to pause her mother's hand from moving. The shock on Margaret's face was satisfying and joy curled in Carrie's stomach like a snake. But Carrie wasn't finished yet, and raw emotion slashed through her. She flexed her fingers, raising her other hand too. Her palms were facing upwards, and she extended her arms out, bring them up slowly and steadily. As she drew her arms up, the objects in her bedroom rose too. Her bed, her nightstand and her chest of drawers all hoovered off the ground from the strength of Carrie's mind. Power surged and rippled through her blood, and as each blood cell touched another, the power transferred, doubling, multiplying. Carrie narrowed her eyes at her mother, and in the next heartbeat, Margaret's body was floating, her kitten heels dragging against the floorboards.

"Oh, Lord have mercy!" Margaret cried out, fear turning her voice weak. Tears leaked down her beautiful yet aged face. Carrie flicked one her hands to the side sharply, and the golden cross that mimicked the one Carrie wore snapped, the chain breaking as it left Margaret's throat and soared through the air into Carrie's hand.

She closed her fingers against the necklace, making a fist. "The Lord can't help you now, Mama."

"WITCH! WITCH!" Margaret screamed and shouted as she was lifted higher off the ground, her legs kicking out as the ground disappeared. "I knew you were cursed the moment you were born under a blood moon!" That was a new revelation to Carrie, but she just grinned at her mother as she lowered her hands to her sides hastily. The floating objects fell to the floor, bashing against the wooden floorboards. Margaret's body came crashing down, her bones making a brutal impacted as she hit the floor hard.

"I'm going to prom and there's nothing you can do to stop me," Carrie announced, holding her head high and shoulders back as she stared down at her shaken mother. Margaret curled up on the floor, tears racing down her cheeks as horror rocked through her system. Carrie let her mother's cross fall; it bounced against the floorboards sharply and Margaret knew what she had to do.

—

The pink silk dress fit Carrie Moore perfectly as it hugged her lean frame that had yet grown into her womanly curves. Michael was right, pink made for the quintessential colour to wear to prom. Carrie had spent all of the next day perfecting herself—styling her hair into soft curls and practising walking in her mother's high heels. She didn't know how to put on makeup well, but brushed some lipstick onto her full lips and feathered on some mascara to the best of her ability. Carrie actually wanted to ask her mother for help, but Margaret had locked herself in her bedroom across the hall in a hardcore prayer session.

Nerves attacked Carrie's stomach like a swarm of wasps and nothing she did could calm them. And she thought forlornly that Michael would be able to calm her nerves. It was after seven when Tommy Ross arrived to take Carrie to prom, even though the prom started at six. And Carrie had practically chewed away her lipstick waiting for Tommy to show. But he had and that was all the mattered. She opened the door before the soft jock even had the chance to knock or ring the doorbell.

"Carrie—wow!" he breathed out, eyes widening at Carrie standing before him awash in smooth silk the colour of the purest pinks. "You look... great!" Tommy was genuinely stunned in the best way possible at the sight of Carrie Moore ready for prom. She'd been ready and waiting by the front windows for the teenage boy.

"Thank you," she gushed, pushing a curl behind her ear, completely abashed. Tommy Ross looked fetching wrapped up in a black suit and a navy blue tie that sat wonderfully on his strong, football-playing shoulders. "You look great, too!" she added nervously.

Tommy chuckled, sweet and giddy. "I got you this." He produced a corsage of a white sweetheart rose nestled against a bed of baby's breath.

"Oh, it's beautiful! Thank you, Tommy!" she replied as Tommy helped secure it around her wrist with the ribbon. Yet Carrie could only think of the red roses in Constance Langdon's garden, the very ones Michael had told her about.

"I'm glad you like it. My mum said a white rose was the best choice," he admitted almost lamely. But it was sweet that he had asked his mother for advice on what corsage to get Carrie for prom. "We should get going," he added, gesturing towards his car.

Carrie nodded, pulling the front door closed behind her as she swept across the threshold, the skirt of her dress brushing against the ground. "I thought you would've been here earlier," she said honestly, following behind the jock as he opened the passenger door for her.

"No one cool arrives at a dance on time," he replied with a goofy smile. Yet while it was meant to be a light joke, it was a small reminder that the two were completely different and belonged in different social circles, different worlds. Carrie looked over her shoulder at the house across the one-way street and her heart jolted as she spied Michael Langdon standing at his porch. She raised one hand in a small wave. The scene mirrored another one from weeks ago when sunlight bathed the earth instead of nightfall. Michael returned the wave and gave her a nod of acknowledgement and encouragement, and Carrie's nerves dimmed as she slid into the car.

Michael watched the car pull away, and while his heart longed to attend the prom with Carrie and to kiss her again, he knew he couldn't. Tonight was her night and he knew with such clarity of what would happen tonight, but he wouldn't do anything to stop it. For tonight was written in the stars and only a different and alternative time could stop the prom of the century.

—

The gymnasium had been transformed into a magical place with curtains of semi-transparent cloth decorated with strings of twinkling golden lights. White and gold balloons gathered here and there and tables skirted a dancefloor filled with the students of Westfield High dressed in their finest. Music streamed from the DJ's speakers and there was a delightful feeling in the air. A feeling that suggested anything could happen tonight. Carrie recognised many of the faces that filled the tables and bopped to the popping music, but not many recognised her. Expect Ava Gold, who ran up to Carrie's side instantly, her heels clicking out rapidly.

"Carrie!" she called out with such awe and joy it was heartwarming. A smile stretched Carrie's painted lips at the sight of her friend donning a halter dress of emerald green. "You look so beautiful!" Ava announced before enveloping Carrie into a tight hug. Seth Covey chattered easily with Tommy Ross as the girls hugged for a long moment, Ava swaying with Carrie.

"So do you!" Carrie replied, her smile widening further. Ava Gold's skin was warm and smelled like candyfloss from her favourite body wash.

"Oh my, Tommy even got you a corsage!" Ava exclaimed, noting the flowers tied around Carrie's wrist.

"Yeah, he did!" Carrie's happiness shone through her skin.

"Seth forwent the flowers for a giant cookie," Ava laughed, "he knows me well!"

"You do love your cookies," Carrie agreed as the girls finally separated. Hugs were so underrated. The song changed, blending into the next one that had a slow melody. Tommy Ross moved casually back to Carrie's side after laughing at something Seth had said.

"Would like to dance, Carrie?" he asked, holding out his hand. Ava barely contained her excitement for Carrie behind the hand covering her lips. Ava was a proud kid and lightly pushed Carrie in closer to Tommy, stifling a laugh.

"Off you go," Ava encouraged her friend, who felt hesitant to leave Ava's side. "We have to raid the refreshment table anyway," Ava added, gesturing to Seth Covey beside her. He was wearing a bow tie that matched the green of Ava's dress.

"Free food is the only reason I'm even here," he joked, grinning widely. Ava slapped his arm and the two disappeared into the crowd. Carrie turned her attention back to Tommy, who stared down at her with such kind and adoring puppy-dog eyes.

Carrie nodded, laying her hand in his open palm. "That would be nice," she said. Tommy closed his fingers around hers, leading her into the sea of dancing teenagers as the slow song swelled around the gymnasium. He spun her around in a small circle and her heart zapped and her stomach swirled so wonderfully as he then settled her against him, his hand on her back.

"Have I told you how great you look tonight?" he asked so charmingly that Carrie blushed hard.

"Yes," she giggled with a soaring heart. "But you can tell me again if you'd like."

"I would definitely like that, Miss Moore." He smiled down at her, his fingertips brushing at her hand cradled in his. "You look great and great and great!" Carrie's giggle turned into a full, splendid laugh. "So great!"

The pair moved as a whole, slow and steady, as the song flowed into the next one seamlessly. And it was picture perfect and exactly like the scene she had imagined. With a soft, blush silk dress and the strings of stars twinkling as she slowed danced with a handsome jock. It was exactly what she had wished it to be, and she then remembered Michael's warning. He'd told her it wouldn't go how she wanted it to, but it was. Perhaps he had been wrong.

Over Tommy's shoulder, Carrie saw Deliah Snell in daring red and Christabelle Slater in dazzling silver, both shooting daggers at her from across the gym. The teenage girls watched her like a predator watching its prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike, waiting for the moment to kill. And then suddenly the girls were weaving through the crowd with purpose. Carrie tried to track their path but lost them behind one of the curtains suspended from the roof.

The song shifted into one with a playful and upbeat tempo and Carrie and Tommy lost their rhythm. Well, it was mostly Carrie, but Tommy nodded towards the refreshment table. "You wanna get some punch?"

But Carrie didn't get the chance to answer as the music was cut off and the feedback from a microphone turning on echoed throughout the gym. There were some groans from the teenagers that wanted to get their dance on as Mr Sanberg took the stage.

"Come on, kids, don't you live for meaningless social validation like this? It's time for the anxiously awaited announcement of prom king and queen," Mr Sanberg said into the microphone in a less than enthusiastic tone. A collective cheer echoed and drums tapped out a crescendoing beat.

"Let's get some punch," Tommy repeated, driving Carrie through the throng of teenagers who bumped against Carrie's shoulder.

"Don't you want to see who is crowned?" Carrie asked, trying to peer over her shoulder at the stage.

"It's all pointless shit," he answered and the tapping of the drums grew louder, more urgent.