Anaisa was fed a minimal luncheon before she was plunged back into the preparations for the ball. This day of pampering and beauty treatments might have delighted many a noblewoman, but she found them anywhere from tedious to mildly alarming.
She hated it most when her eyebrow hairs were plucked. How many people would get close enough to her face to see a single out of place hair?
It was the first time screaming at one of the servants came from her own desire and not simply an effort to impersonate Sapphira.
"Am I not going to be wearing a mask anyway??" She snapped. "Why is this necessary?"
"The face powder we will apply goes on more smoothly–" The woman began.
"Again–mask!" Anaisa interrupted. "Why is face powder involved at all here?"
"It's only a half-mask," Sapphira chirped from the corner with amusement. "You will still have makeup."
A knock at the door interrupted the escalating argument, and Trace entered with a bow.
