The fluorescent lights in the makeup room buzzed with an irritating hum. The harsh white glare reflected off every surface. The chrome handles of the drawers, the glossy countertops, the countless bottles of product arranged in neat rows that suddenly seemed to mock her with their perfect order.
Lilianna stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror, barely recognizing the woman who stared back at her.
Her eyes were bloodshot, her foundation streaked with tear tracks that had carved paths down to her neck. Her lips were bitten raw from the effort of holding back sobs during the shoot. Her gold hair hung limp and tangled around her shoulders.
This was the face of a woman breaking apart at the seams.
Twenty-seven takes.
Twenty-seven goddamn takes for a simple perfume commercial that should have wrapped in three.
She had snapped at the robot holding the lighting because it was too bright. She barked at the cameraman for calling her name a few more times to 'adjust' her emotion.
