Elia sat cross-legged on the chair, arms folded, watching as Anana rummaged through her little wooden chest of cosmetics like a crazy artist preparing for battle.
Elia raised a finger sternly with an exaggerated sigh. “Before you begin, just so you know… I’m fragile. Both emotionally and facially.”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Anana said sweetly, gathering her small chest of cosmetics on the table. “I won’t bruise your pride. I’ll just paint over it.”
That earned a snort from Elia, who leaned back and shut her eyes as Anana began.
Within moments, the room was filled with giggles, muffled laughs, and the faint clinking of brushes and jars. Every time Anana leaned in, her hand trembled from her trying so hard not to laugh.
“Hold still!” Anana said through fits of suppressed laughter as she dabbed
