White Enamel

She combed her hair, studying her reflection in the mirror. She had a beautiful face; stunning. Her complexion was pale, her cheeks lightly blushed, eyes large and blue, her hair bouncy and blonde, curling around her shoulders to frame her sculpted charade.
She sat like an iceberg, lost at sea, glittered, sparkled, along with her dress. The splash of sequins glistened and shifted, scintillating as she moves.
And her smile. It was that smile that had got her so far. Her teeth flashed, pearly white, the tips of her lips, rose red, staying low. It was that smile that had seen those lips kisses a thousand times, the smile that has got her to where she is today.
But her eyes did not follow her mouth. They remained large, open and cold, like metal disks. They were blue, yes, but blue like chrome; they reflected, they did not bloom.
Very carefully, even gracefully, she delicately applied a line of eye shadow, flicking the brush across her pale flesh, a glittering, deep-sea blue, almost black, across the polished ivory of her skin, studding its smoothness with a million tiny diamonds. Her brow wrinkled as she did so, and the wrinkles did not fade as they would have faded five years ago. She ignored them, brushed them from her mind, and applied her powder.
And then her rose red lips became more rose red, deeper, close to scarlet. They pursed, and smiled again, presenting the dazzling glow of her teeth.
She placed her comb on the side of her dressing table, and gave her hair a final adjustment. With one last glance at the mirror – she twirled, slowly – she left the room, letting the door shut quietly behind her.
The comb sat silently on her varnished, antique mahogany. It is pale, slightly off-white, and decorated with carefully swirls of leather-brown. The comb is crafted from delicate white enamel, and is cold to the touch. Its teeth gleamed in the dull, reddish light.
Her gravestone doesn’t have much of an inscription – just a name, and a pair of dates, black against the brilliant white of the freshly-hewed marble. There is a small bunch of flowers, but they fade, and are not replaced.
The comb was sold at auction for the price of three thousand dollars.