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 ...