MERRIELYNN.
I pushed the door to Emorie’s room open without knocking, something I usually wouldn’t do.
But today, I didn’t have it in me to care about etiquette.
She was sitting at her vanity, holding a small mirror in one hand and an eyeliner pen in the other, her face scrunched in concentration. The black line she was drawing on her eyelid was sharp and perfect, the kind of thing I’d never have the patience or coordination to pull off.
“Hold on,” she muttered, not even looking up. Her focus was completely on her winged liner, and I stood there, awkward and restless, waiting for her to finish.
A few seconds later, she leaned back and admired her handiwork. “Perfect,” she said with a satisfied smile before finally glancing at me.
Her expression shifted when she saw me. “Mere?”
I sat
