FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Lifeline

Mascara

Written by Amethyst Mare (Arian Mabe)

The grey-haired wolf perched upon the stool beside her dressing table, the surface of which was decorated with ornate flowers. She had chosen simple but tasteful furniture that suited her eye, floral patterns dominating where she had selected such. Otherwise, the room could have belonged to any elderly fur, as not a single photo frame or individually identifying feature was left in sight. It was as if she did not want anybody to know she existed personally, if another dared break into her private abode.

She was too old for that manner of thing, however, she believed, to dot about memories as if they were the defining factor of a fur. More immediate matters bustled to the forefront of her mind as she looked in the mirror, turning her muzzle from left to right and changing the angle so as to acquire the most flattering view of herself in the slick, one-colour dress. Although age had crept upon her, adding a sprinkling of white to the pure grey of her muzzle, she believed that the years had been kind to her. It could not be denied that her amber eyes were still bright and clear while her coat shone with the aurora of good health. The blue dress suited her, bringing out the hue of her fur like no other garment ever could. Seventy-two and going strong, as Graham would have said.

Graham. It had been a long time since she had seen Graham.

Leaning in close to the mirror, she surveyed her reflection with a critical, narrowed eye. No, that simply would not do. She could not possibly go into town looking as she did. It would be an utter travesty to subject good furs to her ruffled appearance, muzzle devoid of any form of grooming bar water and brush thus far that day.

The patterned pink make-up bag sat where it always had on the right paw side of the table, beside the second round mirror. The separate mirror was illuminated and stood alone at the very edge of the table as if to merely present itself as a display piece. She had never used the mirror but it was a gift from her son from nine birthdays ago, so she felt obligated to keep it in a prominent position. The magnified glass brought out too many flaws in her fur for her liking.

Digging into the bag, she frowned as she hunted down the mascara wand, elusive to her touch. It evaded her fingers with what she swore was a maniacal giggle, trembling beneath a bundle of half-used tubes of lipsticks. She muttered under her breath words that she would not have any other fur overhear, not even on her deathbed, oh no. That simply would not do. Finally, she tapped the tube with a manicured nail and withdrew the slender rod with a flourish.

"Thought you could get away from me, did you?"

Smiling, she pulled off the cap with a small 'pop' and raised the ruffled wand to eye level. The wolf opened her eyes wide and applied the brush with a careful paw to her greying eyelashes, darkening them to a jet black sheen. Whether or not her eyelashes had always been grey was up for debate as she had never been seen outside her modest home devoid of mascara. They could have turned grey with age or she could merely have boasted the soft, grey shade for the entirety of her life. No one who knew her could answer the question either way. She had few long term friends.

Building on the base she created, the wolf lengthened the lashes, drawing each one out in turn to a fine tip. As she worked, she parted her lips, brow furrowed in concentration. Both top and bottom lashes received the same treatment before she dedicated herself to her left eye. This time, her lips clamped together in a thin line and she shuffled closer to the mirror, hunching her back forward. Her paw trembled faintly and each shaky stroke pained greater definition into the lashes, evening out the refined appearance of her muzzle, so it was not only one eye made up for going out.

Alas, her paw faltered and slipped, dashing a splodge of mascara half on her upper lashes and half on her eyelid, ruining the look.

"Fuck!"

She glared down the reflection blinking dully back at her, the black spot of mascara a glaring error in the expanse of what could have been perfection. Huffing, she flung the uncapped mascara wand on the table like a scorned infant, letting it splatter the surface. Did it matter? She took a fresh make-up removal wipe from the blue 'PAWS' brand packet and slapped it across her eyes, half removing and half smearing the paint across her canvas.

More delicately, she inhaled slowly and wiped off every trace of her perfectionism until no evidence remained. Once she was certain that her fur was clear, she retrieved the wand and began a second time without wiping off the tube itself, black make-up staining her fingertips. That was not the point: paws could be washed. But her make-up was another matter entirely.

Appearances were not worth it if they dared to be imperfect.