In response to this prompt….
Cassidy spread red on her face. That’s really what it was, just red across her lips. The burnt brown would go over her eyelids and brows making her features strike. And then her shoes, narrow things teetering on points, creating an intimidating silhouette.
Wiping pigment over your face or running razors across your skin, she wondered if anyone truly fooled themselves into thinking all this was done to suit oneself. Hairless skin and flushed lips were weapons targeted at others. If you went off overseas to kill whoever needed killing they handed you a gun. Likewise, mothers taught their daughters to smear red on their faces.
The girl in the mirror lifted her chin and considered the tight fabric stretching over muscle and fat, legs and breasts, the flesh and meat that made up her body. Some things you could change, hours at the gym and things you chewed and digested. Others you could not, like the unimpressive arch of her neck or short fingers.
But the rest, well that’s what war paint was for. As far as Cassidy was concerned her enemies didn’t stand a chance.
After threading pressurized carbon around her jugular and pushing silver through the old wounds in her earlobes she turned away from the mirror and set about choosing which dead animal would carry her keys and warpaint.