Makeup

By Peter J.

She smoothed the cream on the girl’s cheeks, mumbling. She described her actions as if she was talking to an audience.

“Start with concealer, a shade made ‘just for you.’ Then, add blush.”

The girl didn’t speak. She sat primly in her chair, hands folded. She blinked as the woman applied mascara.

“Don’t go too dark; we’ll have a ‘goth’ on our hands.”

The girl was young and nervous, her Victorian gown tight. Her heart pounded in her corset.

“Never forget the gloss, my dear. You’re so pretty now. Perfect. Flawless.”

The gasp echoed.

“But—oh my god—where’s my face?”