when she thinks of the time before, she thinks of the photo shoot. The woman who applied Sonya’s makeup smelled of lilies of the valley and hair spray. When she leaned close to dust Sonya’s cheeks with blush, or to cover up a blemish with a fingertip dotted beige, Sonya stared at the freckles on her collarbone. When she finished, the woman slicked her hands with oil and ran them through Sonya’s hair to make it sleek. Then she held up a mirror for Sonya to see herself, and Sonya’s eyes went first to the woman’s face, half-hidden by glass. Then, to the pale halo of her Insight, a circle of light around her right iris. It brightened in recognition of Sonya’s own Insight.
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