Her hair was flat. Her dress was splashed with water. But her lips—they blazed. They caught every glimmer of the crystal chandeliers, throwing sparks of light across her face. She didn't feel like a wet stranger; she felt like a centerpiece.
Maya jumped. An elderly woman with vibrant purple hair and a matching cane was leaning against a display of hairspray.
She reached out, her fingers trembling slightly. At twenty-four, she had spent her life playing it safe in beige and mauve. But tonight was different. Tonight was the city’s annual masquerade, and the invitation had whispered of magic and transformation. "That one has a lot of kick," a voice rasped.
Maya looked back at the tube. The price tag felt like a heavy commitment, but the woman’s words sparked something in her chest. She grabbed the Midnight Stardust and marched to the checkout.
"I... I was just looking," Maya stammered, pulling her hand back.
"Don't just look," the woman smiled, her own lips a defiant shade of holographic teal. "Glitter isn't for looking. It's for being seen. It’s armor made of light."
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