I've seen scars from a lash before. It makes me worry why she feels she has to lie to me about what happened. I turn to get a foundation sponge and she steps away to put on a light robe. She's limping and this injury is obviously more recent. Taking her hand in mine, I hold it up so she stands still. The robe drapes to her knees so I can easily see the swelling of her left ankle and the purple discoloration of her heel. She stares at me with an expression that tells me not to ask.
Using a blender and sponge, I complete the task of hiding the scar and work in silence as I adjust her makeup and touch her cheeks with a light brush to soften them. I add a touch of silver around her eyes to brighten the gray. The effect mutes the steel-like quality of her eyes.
"You don't have to protect me, you know," I say very quietly as I work.
"Yes, I do," she says just as softly in a flat voice.
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