Mmrs.

Mari’s routine was meticulous and she had it perfected. At 6:15 she woke up and used the bathroom, brushing and flossing her teeth, and used three bobby pins to clip her hair off to the side across her forehead. Doing this first meant that the hair would be trained and stay flat by the end of her process, exactly the casual looking way she wanted it.

Next she plucked any stray eyebrows that had appeared overnight, her head craned up to the corner of the mirror closest the bright fluorescent light that showed them up best. The inflamed redness of her skin after she had plucked left her a little upset, but if she could avoid the mirror until it went down again she could put it out of her mind.

Next she wiped her face with a cleansing swab and moisturised. The magazines she read told her that most women didn’t start this process until their twenties and regretted waiting so long, so she though that getting a ten year jump on them would give her an advantage once she reached thirty and all of her other middle aged peers were starting to wrinkle. Body moisturising came next, all with SPF to keep her pale skin as white as she could get it. She pitied the girls at school that sat out in the sun all lunch hour baking their flesh, or even worse the ones that dyed themselves that odd strain of orange that seemed so popular with the socialite-worshipping sect.

Weekday clothes, due to the uniform, didn’t have lot of options other than long skirt or short. On both she had altered the stitching red and black instead of their usual white, and a few buttons featuring her favourite bands were pushed into her clip on tie.

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