Evening came.
Naomi sat quietly in her room, her golden eyes closed, as two women worked meticulously to prepare her for the evening. The first, a brunette, carefully applied Naomi's makeup, while the second, a woman with chestnut-brown hair, focused on styling her hair.
The brunette couldn't help but marvel at Naomi's flawless skin. It was the smoothest she had ever encountered, a canvas so perfect that she questioned the necessity of makeup at all. She hesitated as she brushed light strokes of eyeshadow across Naomi's lids, her hands almost trembling. Every motion felt unnecessary, as though she were painting over perfection. Naomi's lashes caught her attention next, long and naturally curled. They put even the most expensive false lashes to shame.
The brunette glanced at the untouched package of false lashes resting on the vanity, realizing it was futile. She smiled softly to herself. Why would someone like her need false lashes? she thought.
