She slipped her right foot into one of her two-tone Mary Janes, her left foot into the other. The thin black straps went across her ankles, the silver buckles tightened with a pinch.
From the munitions strewn across her vanity, she carefully selected her weapons and placed them in a gold mesh evening bag: vamp-red kiss-proof lipstick, silver powder compact, tortoiseshell comb, ivory cigarette case.
She stated into the mirror. Everything was perfection: green eyes smoldering, cheekbones rouged and accented, lips outlined and plumped. Tonight, even her skin shimmered with something almost magical.
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