Maeve
Gemma placed the salve down on the vanity in front of me, wiping the greasy sheen off her fingers on the fabric of her skirt. “This stuff is so messy.”
“I don’t think I need it—”
Gemma grabbed my shoulders and turned me toward the mirror of my vanity, her face hovering above mine in the reflection. She was a normal color, her cheeks rosy from the heat still seeping from the open windows.
Me, well, I was more than a little pink. I reached up to touch the tip of my nose, the skin burnt to a vibrant red that envied the color of the evening gown I had worn to my usual dinner with Ernest only an hour ago.
“Thank Goddess that man got you into the shade!” she said, shaking her head as she reached for the greasy can of salve again, struggling to pry it open. “What were you thinking wear
