The Raven and the Songbird

Chapter 19

The bustle surrounding her was unlike anything Gwyn had experienced. Wide, teal eyes followed the Morrigan as she flitted about the room, somehow scattered and still fully in control. Cosmetics and jewels littered the vanity in a dizzying array. The redhead had never seen such a collection. She couldn't imagine having use for all of it, but Mor was far more glamorous and daring than she. As she continued to take in the organized chaos around her - looking upon the faces of her chosen sisters and the gorgeous blonde - she found herself feeling quite plain.

Gwyn had never been particularly self-conscious about her appearance, though Catrin had often been regarded as the beauty of the pair. She imagined she likely just had too many other things to worry about to care for such things. True, she bore the scars of her trauma on the outside as well as within, but she had always held the hope that anyone trustworthy enough to see them would not find them of great detriment to her beauty or her worth.

But as they prepared for the Starfall celebration at the River House - where the High Lord's family, inner circle, and allies would be present and dripping in elegance and finery - the priestess felt the anxiety push into her chest. The women with her now were breathtaking, and she was certain that Nesta's sisters and the other females in attendance would be no less dazzling. And she knew that the male that would be at her side was easily one of the most beautiful creatures in Prythian. How would the plain, freckled shut-in fit with the most powerful and influential fae in all the land?

Her head wagged, pin-straight hair sliding over her shoulders. She shouldn't think that way. Closing her eyes she took a breath, inhaling through her nose and out through her mouth.

I am the rock against which the surf crashes. Nothing can break me .

Her shoulders fell, tension melting away as she continued to breathe deeply. She focused in, intent on calming herself. But a muffled voice seemed to call to her. Then again.

"Gwyn?"

Her lashes fluttered open, finding Mor gazing back at her behind an empty chair. Her soulful brown eyes wide with question.

"I'm sorry?" The priestess hadn't caught what she'd said. The blonde smiled gently, nodding toward the open seat in front of her.

"The vanity chair is ready for you," she giggled.

"Oh... I... I wouldn't know what to do..." Gwyn's voice trailed off nervously as she tried to give her best, most reassuring smile.

"That's why we're here, silly," Mor insisted, gesturing between the other ladies in the room. "Now come. I've been dying to work with those lovely eyes."

With heated cheeks, Gwyn crossed the room and then lowered herself into the chair facing the mirror. It was as if she were living in a montage of a book, the protagonist transforming slowly before the reader's eyes. Somehow her straight locks twisted into loose ringlets which were then pinned back in intricate knots and plaits and curls until only a few loosely coiled wisps fell in front of her arched ears. Her lips were tinted the color of azaleas, lashes painted black and lined with kohl to contrast with her bright eyes. A shimmer dusted her cheeks, along with her freckles. Though she had often thought they made her look too childlike or naive, she found herself relieved that Mor had chosen not to cover them.

Delicate hands squeezed her shoulders, the devastating Morrigan leaning down and catching her gaze in the mirror. "All finished," she cooed before standing back to admire her work from further away. "Gods, you're gorgeous!"

A breath huffed out of the priestess, a shy smile spreading her lips. "Thank you," she replied, pushing herself out of the chair and turning to Mor. "I appreciate your help."