Narcissa sat at her vanity and applied make up. She didn't need it, she knew, but she wanted it. It made a mask, and Narcissa liked wearing a mask.
"Are you not done yet?" Lucius drawled from the doorway. Narcissa glanced at his reflection in the window, and shook her head.
"You've been at it for an hour and a half. You look beautiful."
"No I don't," Narcissa said flatly, dipping her brush into a pot of powder and brushing it over her cheeks, turning them an even paler shade.
"Yes you do. What are you on about?"
Narcissa did not answer. She just sighed as she painted her face, until her own flesh scarcely showed through. At last, when the face she had painted on didn't even resemble her own, she turned to Lucius.
"I'm finished now," she said softly.
"You look about nine years old," Lucius told her.
"I know."
Narcissa did not meet her husband's eyes as she rose and took his arm, letting him lead her out of her chamber.