My TV’s alarm wakes me at 7am the following morning, and after a quick wash and brush of my hair, I pull on my silky pink dressing gown and head down to the mansion’s designated breakfast area, where I discover I’m not the first to get up.

“Hi Dina!” Lil says with an overenthusiastic giggle as she tucks into her breakfast alongside Lydia and Martha. “Welcome ta the ‘early birds’ table, hehe!”

“Thanks!” I reply with a genuine smile as I get a cup of coffee and a bowl of cornflakes before joining the three women. “Have you been awake long?”

“I barely slept last night,” Martha confesses with a tired-sounding chuckle. “So anxious about today, heh. Still no idea what the task will be.”

“And we’ve already interrogated Miss ‘got an advantage’ over there,” Lil says, gesturing toward the blushing Lydia. “She has no idea either.”

“If it’s a dance challenge, I imagine one of us might have an advantage, though,” Lydia teases as Martha playfully rolls her eyes.

“I haven’t had a ballet lesson since I was eleven,” the dark-skinned woman retorts. “Yes, I know I’m the candidate of the Angel who owns a chain of dance schools, but still…”

“That’s bound ta be coming at some point, though,” Lil muses.

“I know I packed my pointe shoes, just in case,” Lydia says, making the rest of us giggle.

“Better you than me!” Lil snorts. “Did pointe for precisely six months until my feet screamed at me ta stop, heh. Made my mam and dad angry that they’d wasted all their money on the classes but, hey, if I become an Angel, I can pay them back a hundred times over, heh! How about you, Dina? Did ya ever take — umm….” I bite my lip as Lil falters, having clearly forgotten that when growing up, I wasn’t exactly the right ‘demographic’ for ballet classes.

“It’s okay,” I reassure the Geordie woman. “Actually, I am a bit flattered when people ‘forget’ like that. But to answer your question, no, I have never taken a ballet class.” Other than the times during lockdown, I squeezed myself into a pair of pink tights and a leotard and tried to follow along with Krystie Fullerton’s video classes, but you don’t need to know that right now, I think to myself. “We did occasionally do Highland dancing at bo- at secondary school, though.” No sense in telling them about boarding school either, I think to myself. Not least because I don’t want to be reminded of it either….

“That sounds like it could be cool,” Martha muses. “Maybe we’ll get a ‘show off something from your part of the world’ task. Dunno what I’d do for Redhill, though…”

“And Edinburgh isn’t exactly ‘Highland’,” I say, trying not to grimace as my joke falls flat. “Anyway, whatever today’s challenge is, it’s got to be something that we’d all have an equal chance at, you’d have thought?”

“For the first one?” Lydia replies. “Definitely.” Before the conversation can continue, we’re interrupted when Aura and Michelle arrive, and immediately I feel the atmosphere at the table tense up — especially between the two new arrivals and Lil.

“Good morning!” Martha says in a cheerful voice, clearly sensing the same tension that I am and trying to defuse it. “Sleep well?”

“Very well, thank you,” Michelle replies politely, but the passive-aggression coming from her is almost tangible. “Did I interrupt anything?”

“Just talking about dance classes from when we was younger,” Lil replies, subtly emphasising her obvious accent.

“Oh,” Michelle says. “Did any of you also study ballet at the Royal Academy of Dance?” Do you want a megaphone to announce that any louder? I think to myself.

“I don’t think any of the Angels did either, to be fair,” Lydia says, thankfully lowering the tension in the room, and no doubt frustrating the show’s producers, as I once again wonder if I’ve done the right thing in signing up for this programme. My confidence quickly returns, however, when my new American friend enters the room, a grin spreading across both our faces as we make eye contact with each other.

“Hey ya’ll!” Ginny says as she gets her coffee and breakfast, then sits down next to me. “And I surely do mean ‘hey,’ not ‘howdy,’ don’tcha know. What’re all ya’ll talking ‘bout this mornin’?”

“Well, that brings up a point I’ve been meaning ta ask. Just why is it we don’t get a ‘howdy?’ Is that just for Texans, or what?” Lil asks with a smirk.

“Not a’tall,” Ginny replies. “Howdy is somethin’ we say when we’re bein’ polite, it ain’t for friends.” I share a smile with my new friend as she sips her coffee — we may be directly competing for the same prize, but I have no reason to believe that she isn't sincere when she calls us 'friends.'

“We all are comparing our differing levels of dance education before you arrived,” Michelle replies, making me frown as Ginny blushes at Michelle’s use of ‘we all.’

“I… ain’t got much to contribute there, y’all,” Ginny says quietly.

“Join the club,” I chuckle.

“We were actually talking about what the first task was probably gonna be,” Lil says, clearly attempting to try and reassert control of the conversation.

“And because I’m Krystie’s candidate, one line of conversation led to another,” Martha chuckles. “I kinda think we’ve not got long to find out, though.” I smile and nod along with the rest of the women as the conversation continues, marvelling at, as with last night, just how easily the others have accepted me as a woman just like them. Even when I sit back and let the others take control of the breakfast talk, I still feel included, I feel valued — I feel validated. Once again, eight total strangers have shown me the respect that my family never would….

Eventually, though, breakfast ends and we’re called back to our rooms, where, as expected, my mentor is waiting on my TV screen.

“Hey Dina!” Kelly says with a grin. “Hope you slept well and had a big breakfast; you’re gonna need it today!”

“Yep, I slept like a baby last night, heh,” I reply. “Better than I usually do at home, heh.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Kelly says. “And I’d love to unpack that a bit more with you, but we’ve kinda got a challenge to do, heh! This first challenge is very simple on paper, but there’s a lot going on that you’ll need to get right. The first challenge is… runway fashion show!”

“Okay, that makes sense,” I say, smiling at the thought of doing proper modelling work — though my smile quickly turns into a nervous grimace as Kelly details what it will involve.

Not only will I have to choose my own dress, but I’ll also have to style my own hair, make-up, accessories and shoes. And while this is nothing I haven’t done before, it’s the first time I’ll have done it with a mere thirty-five minutes to plan and prepare, and more importantly, it's also the first time I’ll have been in direct competition with other girls. As Kelly is quick to remind me, social media is, by its very nature, competitive — everyone’s chasing the same number of likes and views, after all — but this is very much taking it to a whole new level.

With the clock ticking from the second Kelly’s call ends, and her unable to help or assist me (that is the ‘advantage’ Lydia won from yesterday’s mini-challenge, incidentally — mine is an additional five minutes on my clock over the other girls), I set to work. First, I open the wardrobe to see the selection of outfits that they provided for me. Inside are dresses of all lengths and colours, co-ord sets and even a few jumpsuits, most of which were picked by Kelly, with a few picked by some of the other Angels as 'red herring' outfits, knowing they wouldn't suit me.

It doesn’t take me long to pick out an outfit — I want a look that's very distinctly different to last night's dress, so I opt for a floor-length gown with a high slit up one side and a mesh panel on the front almost down to my navel. This means I can’t wear a bra with it, not that I was going to anyway, and, with the height of the skirt’s slit, I also leave my legs bare (though I have obviously taken care to ensure they're hair-free). The feature of the dress that really appealed to me, though, was the single left sleeve, which is made of the same mesh material as the decolletage, with the rest of the dress being made of a dark green satin. It doesn’t take me long to find a pair of heels in a matching colour (4.5″ being a bit higher than usual for me, but nothing I can’t cope with,) and set about my make-up look.

Obviously, with a dress of such bold colours, I don't want a subtle look, so I opt for thick eyeshadow and eyeliner, with false eyelashes and foundation to emphasise my facial features — and, of course, plenty of my favourite nude matte lipstick.

With my look almost complete, I grin widely as I slowly step into the dress, shivering with excitement as the cool fabric clings to my body. It’s only once I’ve zipped myself into it, though, that I realise I’ve made a huge mistake.

The dress is clingy, tight against my body, and while I am securely 'tucked' away, the fact is that without any ‘enhancements’ — which would be plainly visible under the mesh panelling of the dress — I don’t have any significant curves for the dress to cling to. Immediately, I flash back to a few weeks after I started university and when I became ‘Dina’ for the first time, before I’d even met the ‘real’ Dina. The dressing up session had ended in disaster, with none of my clothes fitting, my make-up a total mess and me looking every bit the amateur teenaged crossdresser that I then was. Over five years have passed since then, and I’ve applied and reapplied my make-up countless thousands of times and worn more outfits than I even knew existed back then. Physically, however, I’m still the same as I was back then. I may be a little lighter between then and now, and my hair has certainly grown longer, but my chest is flat, my hips narrow and my shoulders, while not ‘broad’ in the usual sense, are certainly wider than any of the other girls in the house — even Ginny or Hayley.

I have, of course, bought clothes before that were ill-fitting, but back then, I could simply package the garment up, return it to the online seller for a refund and wear something else instead. Today, however, that simply isn’t an option, as the countdown timer on my room’s TV screen mercilessly reminds me. I have to be in the mansion’s main conference room in precisely three minutes, ready or not. With a sigh, I give my lipstick a quick touching up and repaint my nails to match my dress before heading out of my room, making it to where the other candidates are waiting with just seconds to spare. Naturally, all of them look amazing — even Hayley, whose choice of an asymmetric black cocktail dress and long gloves puts my efforts to shame. To my surprise, though, only eight of us are present as the clock ticks over to zero — and as I look around, I realise that it’s my American friend who’s still absent.

“Wh- where’s Ginny?” I ask, concerned for my friend. Surely she hasn’t lost her nerve already? Or has she made a faux pas similar to my own? Either way, I feel almost guilty to feel relieved that her tardiness will take the attention away from my outfit choice.

“…Late?” Aura asks, paying more attention to adjusting her hair than actually answering my question. “She knew what the deadline was, same as the rest of us.”

“D’you reckon she’ll get a penalty for it?” Marcie asks. “Like, automatically be in line for the first elimination?”

“Better her than me,” Michelle snorts, before forcing a clearly fake smile on her face as our American ‘colleague’ emerges from the stairway.

“Hey Ginny!” I say, smiling sympathetically to try to relieve her obvious anxiety at her lateness. “What — did you have a problem?” Before my American friend can reply, though, we’re interrupted by the faces of three of our ‘mentors’ appearing on a monitor outside the conference room.

“Hey, Angel candidates!” Hannah says, her screen flanked on either side by Jamie and Alice. “Welcome to your first challenge! I know some of you have modelled on runways before, but for some of you, this will be a new experience. However, it is a skill — and yes, skill is needed to do it — that all Angels need to have. So when you get out there, take your time, don’t rush and don’t panic. You ALL look gorgeous, so let the outfits do the talking!”

“Though on the topic of ‘not rushing,’ ” Alice says as Ginny — her candidate — tries not to blush and I try not to stare at her. “Ginny, I’m afraid you were late for the start of the challenge, and in this line of work, timing is everything.”

“Admittedly, we would normally have a PA on our backs about everything,” Jamie interjects, “but she’s not here right now, so you need to take responsibility for getting yourself ready — especially with Covid still a thing.”

“As such, I’m afraid that Ginny will automatically be in line for elimination following this task,” Hannah says with a sad sigh. “Sorry, but rules are rules.” I bite my lip as I hear a sniff from behind me — it’s obvious that Ginny is taking the news badly. I have a choice of whether to help her or focus on my own competition — and it takes me no time to realise that there's only one choice I can make.

“Hey,” I whisper to the tearful American girl, “it’ll be okay. Just go out there and smash it, okay?” I share a smile with Ginny as she dries her tears and nods, though it’s clear she’s far from convinced.

“For now, though,” Jamie says, “it’s showtime! First to go is Miss Lydia Dixon, so strut your stuff!” The rest of us cheer as the tall bespectacled girl straightens her scandalously short dress and struts onto the catwalk that’s been set up in the conference room.

For the next twenty minutes the other girls take their turns — including Ginny, who just about manages to compose herself enough to walk the runway — before I take my turn. Despite the encouraging cheers of my fellow candidates when my name is called, I still feel self-conscious as I step out onto the catwalk. Even though the ‘audience’ in the room is only long sticks with the faces of various celebrities stuck onto them, there will be thousands of people around the world streaming my performance in a few days’ time. They’ll see me strut and pose just as I’ve done a thousand times on my social media… and they’ll see my masculine body for what it is underneath my dress. What am I even doing here? I think to myself as I blow a playful kiss to the camera before strutting back through the curtain and taking my place with the other women — or rather, just ‘the women’ full stop. They must have seen what I saw this morning, and what every viewer will see when they watch the show. For the first time, I’m wondering if I deserve to be the first candidate to be voted off the show….

“You did great, Dina!” Martha says the second I return to the ‘holding area.’

“Well — I dunno…” I mumble, unconvinced by the dark-skinned woman’s sincerity.

“Well, I do,” Martha says in what sounds like a genuine attempt to reassure me. “I mean, I could kinda tell you were nervous, but you really looked calm and professional out there. Even if you don’t make it to 'Angel' status, you’ve definitely got a job as a model!”

“Thanks,” I whisper.

“Honestly, you really looked like a natural out there,” Ginny reassures me. “Hard to believe — well, you know.”

“Hard to believe that for you, maybe,” I say as my fellow trans woman given my hand a gentle squeeze. “I just — heh. I’ve never felt so ‘exposed,’ you know? Well, I imagine you DO know.”

“I really, really do,” Ginny sighs. “All too well, heh. But trust your Auntie Ginny when she says that you are NOT that boy anymore. You’re not — umm….”

“…Wil-” I say, only for my ‘auntie’ to interrupt me again.

“I don’t need to know what your name WAS,” Ginny insists. “Any more than you need to know what mine WAS. You ARE Dina. And you belong here as much as any of us.”

“Totally,” Lydia says, placing a gentle hand on my shoulder as my anxiety starts to ease.

“Honestly? You are SERIOUS competition,” Marcie says, eliciting a giggle from me as Aura gets ready for her turn on the catwalk. However, while the kind words of my friends help, I don’t think I’ll ever shake the feeling that as much as I wish and as hard as I try — and god knows, I’ve tried — I’m not sure that I’ll ever truly fit in, as an Angel, an Angel candidate, a model or even as a woman. Mainly because at the back of my mind, I’ll always have the knowledge that the ‘real’ Dina is still out there, and may very well be watching this very episode….

After everyone’s had their turn walking for the cameras, we’re ushered into another room in the vast mansion, where photograph after photograph is taken of us — not just individually, but in group shots of all manner of configurations of the nine of us. And while it’s explained to us by the photographer (Heavenly Talent’s in-house photographer and a former ‘Teen Angel’ herself) that the photos aren’t part of the show’s competition, they’re more for publicity, I still can’t help but feel self-conscious — after all, I’m still wearing what is undoubtedly the worst dress I could have chosen. And yet, as I pose (and try my hardest to hide my lack of ‘figure’), I find myself wishing more and more that I didn’t have to take it off….

After a buffet lunch (while still wearing our fancy dresses), the nine of us head back to our rooms to change back into more casual clothes. I had originally planned to change into a ‘traditional Dina’ outfit of a tight top and clingy miniskirt, but after the morning I’ve had, the last thing I want to do is show off what meager curves I have. Instead, I opt for a short-sleeved white bodysuit, black tights and a grey denim dungaree dress with a pair of matching ankle boots, repainting my nails a dark silvery colour to match and marvelling at how effortlessly I can make myself look feminine even in such an otherwise ‘slouchy’ outfit — even if I know that my femininity is, after all, just a mask….

Once I’m changed, my TV alerts me to an incoming call, and when I answer it, as expected, my mentor’s face appears on screen.

“Hi Dina!” Kelly says with a grin that I try to mirror. “First challenge done, hehe!”

“Yep!” I reply with a tired, nervous sigh.

“How d’you think it went?” Kelly asks, her demeanour changing as she picks up on my anxiety.

“It — umm…” I reply, biting my lip as I carefully choose my words. “I think it went okay. I HOPE it did, anyway, but... heh. I regretted my choice of dress the instant I put it on.”

“Yeah…” Kelly says, smiling sympathetically. “That wasn’t one I’d picked out for you. I asked the other Angels, and it was actually Abbey-Gayle who put it in there — not to, like, ‘target’ you specifically, but because it was one she didn’t think would suit her candidate, so she left it to the side and sort-of distributed the ‘rejects’ at random, if that makes sense.”

“A little,” I say. “Heh, picking out a look was always a lot easier when I actually had time to think about it.”

“Which isn’t always the case when you have as much demand for your time as we Angels do,” Kelly retorts. “ It’s surprising how often we have stuff literally couriered to our door and they expect us to have videos filmed and uploaded the same day. Yes, I realise it’s the very definition of ‘first world problem’ to complain about having designer clothes and accessories foisted upon us, and we do have a very good social media team who edit our posts prior to them going up, but we still have to put in the work styling the products, filming the videos, etc.”

“I — I get it,” I sigh. “I always work hard on my social media channels; that is why you picked me as your candidate, isn’t it?”

“100%,” Kelly replies with a smile. “But don’t worry too much. If you’re in the bottom three, I will absolutely fight your corner.”

“How — how does the elimination work again?” I ask. “I know it was originally going to be us candidates picking, but-“

“We — as in, the Angels — will rank your performance in the task from 1-9,” Kelly replies. “Well... 1-8, actually, as it’s assumed that everyone will place their candidate first, as will I. The bottom three based on average rank will go into a sort-of ‘second elimination stage,’ and the nine of us will decide who leaves this time. But don’t. Worry. Okay? Performance on challenges isn’t the only thing we take into consideration when we decide who stays and who goes.”

“O- okay,” I say.

“You are, without doubt, a gorgeous, feminine woman who 100% belongs in this process,” Kelly says firmly. “Don’t let a minor setback knock you, okay? And don’t let it knock your confidence in general, either. Just because your body isn’t an expression of who you are right now, it doesn’t mean that it’ll never be. Don’t let that trick you into thinking that the dream’s impossible, as I’m living proof that it’s not. A person’s body does not define who they really are, and I’m willing to bet that before too long, you’ll have just as sexy and feminine a body as anyone else in there. Don’t stop believing in Dina — I know I won’t.”

“I won’t either,” I whisper. “Thanks.”

“I think you guys have dinner now, then you’re free for the rest of the evening, so try to relax, okay?”

“Trust me, I’m too exhausted to do anything else!” I chuckle.

“I thought you might be,” Kelly says with a giggle. “Take care of yourself, okay? We’ll talk again tomorrow, but no matter what the results of the challenge are, don’t worry too much about what other people think, okay? It’s your life, and your rules.”

“Thanks,” I whisper, smiling as the call ends and I ponder my ‘mentor’s’ words.

‘My life’ and ‘my rules’ are sayings that most definitely didn’t apply to the first twenty-one years of my life. The only thing I had that was truly ‘mine’ were my responsibilities. Kelly hit the nail on the head, though, when she talked about ‘first world problems,’ as that sums up my early life to a T. I had everything a kid could want for when growing up — rich parents, even richer grandparents, a big house, the best school, all of my education paid for — everything except the one thing that I truly wanted. The one thing I could never have. The one thing I felt more guilty about wanting than anything growing up.

It has been less than 24 hours since I arrived at the mansion, and I now know that guilt was entirely misplaced. My feelings are entirely valid, just as valid as Kelly’s, or Jamie’s, or Ginny’s, or Hayley’s — and just because my body is still chemically and anatomically male, it doesn’t make me any less of a woman. After all, Kelly, Jamie, Ginny and Hayley’s bodies were all anatomically and chemically male once upon a time. They all had to take their ‘first steps’ one day or another, just as I’m taking mine now. Admittedly, their ‘first steps’ weren’t quite as ‘public’ as mine….

With a renewed feeling of confidence, I head out of my room to join the other women — OTHER women — for dinner, before the nine of us settle down and relax for the rest of the evening. Heavenly Talent haven’t spared any expense on luxuries for the mansion — the nine of us have access to a hot tub, a sauna, a Nintendo Switch and countless other activities to while away our time. While the hot tub is tempting, my ‘anxiety’ from earlier today makes the prospect of showing off my body in a bikini or even a one-piece swimsuit less than appealing, especially as being immersed in hot water makes it even harder to stay ‘tucked.’ More importantly, though, the person I most want to talk to right now is alone in the lounge’s bar area, mixing a drink for herself.
“Hey Dina!” Ginny says in her distinctive Texan accent as I approach and (as elegantly as possible in my short dress) mount one of the bar stools. “Can I fix y’all a drink?”

“Depends what you’re making,” I reply. “Something strong and sweet would be nice.”

“I like my men the same as y’all’s drinks, then,” Ginny giggles as she mixes me a strong-smelling cocktail.

“Have you- have you got a boyfriend, then?” I ask while sipping my drink.

“Naw, ain’t got one right now,” Ginny replies with a sad smile. “Ain’t been easy to meet guys this here past year, ya know! How ‘bout you, ain’t you got someone special in your life?”

“Nope,” I reply with a sad shake of my head. “There was one girl at university, but-” I’m currently emulating her? I ask myself. Plus, she never got to know how I truly feel about her, and blurting it out on streaming television really isn’t the best way to go about things….

“Ain’t got to say no more,” Ginny says sympathetically as she sips her own cocktail. “Together long?”

“Hardly any time at all,” I reply. “And I- I wasn’t, you know….”

“It was ‘fore Dina?’ ” Ginny asks, as I try not to grimace at the way she worded her question.

“…If anything, there probably wouldn’t be a ‘Dina’ if it wasn’t for her,” I reply.

“Got to be a pretty cool gal, then,” Ginny giggles. “I can’t help but sympathise with her a bit, wantin’ to have her lovers to be a touch more… butch, hehe!”

“The one thing I most definitely am not,” I say with a smug grin.

“Hell no you ain’t!” Ginny playfully cheers, before sighing. “I’m thinkin’ that after this morning, ‘Angel’ is the one thing I ain’t never gonna be, huh? Ain’t no need to guess why I’m drowning my sorrows now!”

“Don’t write yourself off just yet!” I admonish my friend, who blushes and sighs. “If anyone’s at risk of being the first one to go, it’s me. I picked THE worst dress possible….”

“Girlfriend, you looked yummy,” Ginny says with a shrug. “So what if you ain’t got ‘curves?’ You still looked hot, and it looked hot on you.”

“Thanks,” I whisper. “Hopefully it’ll be enough to keep me in here, heh.”

“Yeah, well, at least you ain’t KNOWIN’ you’re in the ‘firin’ line,’ ” Ginny sighs.

“Why — umm, assuming that it’s not a sensitive question, but... why were you late this morning?” I ask.

“…I jus’ had a hard time stoppin’ myself from just picking up my things and literally sprintin’ all the way home,” Ginny sighed. “An’ I ain’t just talkin’ ‘bout Oldham, but all the way to Texas. Once I done put on the dress, applied the make-up an’ looked in the mirror; I — all I was hearin’ was my ma’s sneers and my pa’s anger screaming back at me from the glass. Remindin’ me that no matter what, I- I ain’t never gonna be a ‘real’ woman.”

“I mean no disrespect but- but your parents should be ashamed of themselves,” I say confidently, mentally adding ‘and so should mine’ to the end of my sentence.

“They ain’t never gonna feel ashamed,” Ginny sighs. “Not ‘bout what they do, don’t matter who they done hurt. They done been told that they’re acting accordin’ to God, so it don’t matter what they say or who they hurt, they’re in the right. Everybody asked growing up, ‘what would God think?’ Funny, he seems to b’lieve the exact same way my folks do.”

“Yes, I’ve heard THAT story before,” I snort as I finish my drink and Ginny makes me another. “But what I took away from what Kelly told me is that I shouldn’t be too hung up on what other people think of me. They don’t ‘know’ how God thinks, any more than my parents ‘know’ how the Queen thinks. It’s not selfish to want to be happy, even if what makes you happy is something they want to pretend is somehow immoral, or something.”

“Amen an’ Hallelujah!” Ginny giggles as Hayley and Lydia join us in the bar area.

“Ooh, didn’t realise we had a mixologist with us!” Lydia giggles. “Could you fix me and Hayley a few drinks?”

“Ain’t you but twenty?” Ginny asks the tall woman, who giggles in reply.

“Legal drinking age in England is eighteen, I’m good,” Lydia replies with a cheeky grin.

“Well… okay, but don’tcha know that I can do one better than just make you them cocktails?” Ginny asks with a playful smirk. “How ‘bout I teach y’all a few?” Needless to say, the three of us jump at this invitation, and we spend the rest of the evening learning how to make, and, of course, how to drink Ginny’s fruity creations.

The pounding in my head wakes me the following morning from a dreamless sleep. I’ve never been much of a drinker — my family is too ‘proper’ to tolerate any drunken foolishness, even when I was at university. I spent hardly any of my time going ‘out’ while at university, as the allure of being ‘Dina’ was far more appealing to me. However, despite my hangover, I’m still relieved that I can remember last night’s events. After the cocktail session, the four of us played doubles table tennis — badly, considering our condition at the time — before the mansion’s PA system advised us all to go to bed just after 11pm.

Grateful that I didn’t say or do anything incriminating, I take a quick shower to try to wake myself up properly before pulling on a casual but still feminine look of a dark pink long-sleeved top and a black denim miniskirt. After applying a light layer of make-up, I head downstairs to find several of my housemates already awake and eating breakfast — though many of them also look the worse for wear.

“Morning!” Lil says, giggling as I wince at her voice’s volume. “I see you enjoyed last night’s cocktail making class, then?”

“Maybe a little too much,” I reply as I pour myself a badly needed mug of hot black coffee. “Is Ginny up yet?”

“The mixmistress?” Hayley replies with a giggle that sounds almost as pained as I feel. “Not yet. Which is odd when she made a lot more drinks than she drank, heh.”

“I hope she’s not feeling too down,” Lil muses. “Y’know, about being guaranteed to be in the bottom three and all that.”

“She should have been here on time, then,” Aura says bluntly. “We all had the same time limit, after all. Eight of us made it in time, one didn’t. Those are the rules.”

“She’ll learn from her mistakes, then,” I say as I sit down with the other women.

“If she’s still here,” Aura retorts. “Two days from now, eight of us will still be in the mansion, and one won’t. Those are also the rules.”

“Still though, doesn’t mean she automatically deserves the boot,” Lil muses. “I know it’s the way the show is, but honestly? I’d rather all nine of us stayed to the end.”

“Me too,” I say quietly. After last night, I especially don’t want Ginny to leave, I think to myself. Though if it was a choice between her and me….

Thankfully, we don’t have to wait long for the new, as shortly after breakfast — with all nine of us in attendance, including a very nervous-looking Ginny — we’re summoned to the main conference room, where Charlotte, Hannah and Abbey-Gayle’s ‘Angelic’ faces greet us on the big screen. No Kelly? I think to myself. Maybe this is good news….

“Angel candidates,” Charlotte announces. “The nine of us have finished reviewing the footage of yesterday’s fashion show, and we have each independently nominated three candidates for elimination.”

“As you know,” Hannah continues, “due to arriving late for the fashion show, Ginny is automatically in line for elimination. Sorry, Ginny.” I bite my lip as I glance over at the Texan woman, who is barely holding back tears. “The nine of us separately ranked the remaining eight candidates — apart from our own — from first to last, and then we tallied up the results.”

“And I can reveal,” Abbey-Gayle says, looking almost nervous herself, “that the candidates facing elimination are: Marcie.” I glance over at the dark-skinned woman, who sighs and lowers her head — clearly, she was expecting this. “And… Dina.” I let out an involuntary moan as I feel like someone has punched me in the gut — even though I was expecting it, it doesn’t make the inferred rejection any less painful.

“The other six of you will stay for the second task, guaranteed,” Charlotte says. “Ginny, Marcie and Dina: you will have the chance to speak to your Angel mentors shortly. After that, you’ll face the rest of us for your chance to persuade us why you deserve to remain in the competition. Good luck.” As the call ends, I try not to gulp as I — along with Ginny and Marcie — feel the eyes of everyone else in the room turn toward us.

“Well, this sucks,” Lil sighs sadly. “I mean, we knew someone would be going, but it kinda hits different when you actually hear it, you know?” I know better than you; your name wasn’t even called out, I ruefully think to myself. Before I can say anything, though, they interrupt our conversation with an announcement from the PA system.

“Ginny, Marcie and Dina, please return to your rooms, where your Angel mentors will contact you shortly,” the announcement says and, with the eyes of the room still focussed on me and my cheeks flushing, I — followed by Marcie and Ginny — rise from my seat and head back to my bedroom, where I take a few seconds to compose myself before answering the waiting video call.

“Hi Dina,” Kelly says softly, clearly trying to soothe my feelings. “I’ll be honest, I- I wasn’t really expecting this.”

“I sort of was,” I reply, earning a sympathetic smile from my mentor.

“I know,” Kelly whispers. “But you still only have a one in three chance of being the first to leave. Personally, I’d say you actually have an even better chance of staying, but it all depends on the other Angels and how well you can persuade them.”

“Okay,” I whisper. “Do you — do you have any tips?” I smile as my mentor nods and smiles again.

“As always, look matters,” Kelly replies. “First impressions count, and you’ll need to make an impression from the second you walk into the conference room. But most important is: be yourself. Don’t give the Angels any sob stories, but don’t be too, for want of a better word, ‘aggressive’ either. There’s such a thing as ‘trying too hard,’ and believe me, we saw it thousands of times during the auditions. Talk about your hard work on social media, particularly how you experiment with your style and how you will — and do — learn from your mistakes. Speak from the heart, but also from the brain, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah,” I whisper as, once again, I have to plan an outfit with little to no warning.

After Kelly has imparted some further advice, she leaves me to plan my outfit for the 'persuasion.' Heeding my mentor’s words, I reason that the look I need is stylish, but not entirely formal, so something like a business suit or an evening gown would be inappropriate, but so would the slouchy clothes in which I started the day. After brushing my hair into a loose but playful style, I open my wardrobe and quickly come across the perfect outfit for the job.

Rather than a dress, the outfit is comprised of a bodysuit and a skirt. The bodysuit is grey, ribbed and long-sleeved and has a turtleneck, which simply takes ages to fasten at my crotch, but it also has exposed shoulders, giving a more playful look. The skirt, meanwhile, is short (only covering a few inches of thigh below my backside) and tight and made of a shiny gold-coloured fabric. A pair of black tights and ankle boots with a platform and a chunky 6” heel complete my outfit, and rather than yesterday's sultry make-up look, I opt for a more modest look, toning down the eyeshadow and blush — though obviously I make sure to liberally apply my favourite lipstick. I leave my room feeling ready to take on the world — though eight women whose style and social media far exceeds my own is a much more daunting prospect.

A short while later, the Tannoy calls me to the conference room, and I’m grateful that the route doesn’t take me through where the other candidates are sat — and that I don’t see Marcie or Ginny exiting the room as I enter. As I expected, when I enter the room, the faces of the eight Angels who aren’t my mentor are on the big screen, all looking expectantly in my direction.

“Hi Dina,” Charlotte says in a soft voice that’s clearly meant to make me feel at ease — even though that's the one thing I'm definitely not right now. “Kelly should have already explained to you what’s going to happen. There’ll be a five-minute clock on the screen, and you’ll have that time to tell us why you should still be in the running to be the next Angel.” I nodded and took a deep breath as the clock ticked down to 4:59.

As you would imagine, I didn't waste any of my time. I talked about my love of working hard, my desire to establish myself not just as a brand, but as a person, and the speed with which I not only established my social media presence, but grew and refined it as well. And even though she didn’t need to tell me it, I also followed Kelly’s final, most vital piece of advice — not to denigrate Ginny or Marcie. The Angels are, first and foremost, a group of friends, and they promote friendship, respect and acceptance above all else. Which is a large part of why I admire them so much.

Once my time runs out, I smile and say my goodbyes to the Angels — hopefully not for the last time, but I'm not holding my breath. I head back to the main room where the other candidates are waiting, including, much to my surprise, Marcie and Ginny. I bite my lip as I sit down next to the American girl — while Marcie is wearing a casual but stylish top and skirt similar to my look, Ginny is wearing a short, tight, strapless black cocktail dress, shiny nude tights and stiletto sandals. Her make-up is thick, she has her hair styled high atop her head and she looks like she’s ready for a night out on the town… which goes completely against Kelly’s advice to me.

“Hey,” Aura says softly, giving my hand a quick squeeze as I sit down. “Did it go okay?”

“I hope so,” I reply with a smile that the other girls all share, before I turn to the clearly nervous Ginny and whisper. “Hey, are you okay?” I smile sympathetically as Ginny simply nods in reply — clearly, she feels as pessimistic as I do right now.

Fortunately, we don’t have long to wait, as after roughly an hour of near-silence, the big screen in the room illuminates with the faces of Alice, Abbey-Gayle and Kelly — the ‘mentors’ of the three of us at risk of elimination.

“Angel candidates,” Kelly says, jangling my nerves — if she’s the one making the announcement, it doesn’t bode well for me. “The nine of us have completed our discussion, and we have made our decision as to who will be the first candidate to leave the competition.”

“Marcie,” Abbey-Gayle says, lessening my nerves as my fellow candidate looks on the verge of tears, “the other Angels complimented you on your style and the grace you showed even after you were nominated for elimination.”

“Ginny,” Alice says softly. “The other Angels complimented you on your friendliness and cheerful attitude.”

“Dina,” Kelly says as I listen intently. “The other Angels complimented you on your professionalism and tireless work ethic.” Not exactly as ‘glowing’ as the other two, I think to myself.

“The candidate who will be leaving us is…” Abbey-Gayle says, leading to a pause that feels like it lasts forever.

“…I’m sorry, it’s Ginny,” Alice says, and while I inwardly decompress, my heart still sinks. Not only do I feel bad for my new friend, she was also the closest friend I had in here, and even though I only knew her for a few days, I suddenly feel a lot more alone than I did before. Regardless, I know that's not what's most important now — the feelings of the distraught American girl next to me are.

“Hey,” I whisper as I give the tearful American girl a tight hug. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Uh — uh-huh,” Ginny replies between sobs.

“Message me when you get home,” I say. “We — we’ll tour Edinburgh together, I’ll show you the sights, okay?”

“If you ain’t too busy being an Angel, anyway,” Ginny sniffles.

“I’ll never be too busy for a friend,” I whisper before standing aside as the other candidates each give Ginny a tight hug.

“Ginny,” Alice says from the screen. “Please say your goodbyes and get ready to leave the mansion.” I have to blink back tears of my own as Ginny finishes her round of hugs and the main door to the room opens to reveal two smartly dressed men waiting. With a sigh, Ginny heads toward the door, pausing before she reaches it and turning back to face us.

“I — I just want to say that even though it was brief, this has been one of the best experiences of my life,” Ginny says. “Meeting eight amazing women like you has been a privilege and I hope, I really do hope that we all meet again someday. See, I can talk like a Brit, if I wanna. I don’ wanna have to say g’bye to all y’all, but...”

“We’ll miss you!” Lil calls as we all wave our new friend goodbye, many of us — myself included — sighing as the door is closed behind her before returning to our seats.

I should be happy — despite the initial ‘blip,’ I’ve passed the first test and am still in the mansion, still competing to be the next Angel. And yet, I feel sad. I genuinely grew to like Ginny, and my offer of friendship was genuine. I can’t help but also feel nervous — it can’t be a coincidence that a trans girl was the first to go, and losing my closest friend in here has left me short an ally going forward….