A Pristine Reflection

Dripping with gore? Oh darling, please—that dreadful crimson smear was merely sticky strawberry pulp from yesterday's theatrical little snack, though I admit the effect was delightfully dramatic. Still, a star never tolerates dull, crusty cutlery. Perched on the cool porcelain rim of the bathroom vanity, I grabbed a plush makeup sponge and dabbed it generously into a jar of cold cream. With slow, rhythmic strokes, I stripped away every last trace of red residue, buffing the blade flat against a folded lace hand towel until the steel caught the morning vanity bulbs in a blinding, mirror-like gleam. Immaculate, radiant, and ready for whatever scene comes next.