Mark & Cindy Fight Monsters: Episode Thirty
Blush with Power
It all started with an estate sale.
Cindy wasn’t even trying to buy anything cursed. She was looking for vintage glassware and maybe a fun chair. But tucked between a dusty taxidermied badger and a box labeled “DO NOT OPEN (seriously, Brenda)” sat a pristine, untouched makeup kit.
It gleamed. Literally.
“Don’t you have one just like that already?” Mark asked.
Cindy blinked. “Mark. That’s like saying, ‘Don’t you already own a fork?’“
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Back home, she opened it. The compact shimmered like moonlight on champagne. The lipstick whispered her name. The mascara curled… on its own.
Mark was alarmed when the mirror fogged and spelled out:
“SLAY, QUEEN.”
But Cindy was intrigued. She had a dinner party to attend. A little mystical highlighter wouldn’t kill her.
(Probably.)
The Powers:
- Lipstick of Truth: Once applied, she could force anyone to reveal their most embarrassing secret.
(The UPS guy cried. So did Mark.) - Blush of Strength: Her cheekbones now doubled as registered weapons. She crushed a cantaloupe with a wink.
- Mascara of Mind Control: One flutter of her lashes and the HOA board agreed to allow hellhounds in the neighborhood. Toast barked in triumph.
- Setting Spray of Invulnerability: Bullets? Mean girl comments? Splatters from exploding casserole dishes? Nothing touched her now.
Cindy went from “woman with a good cardigan game” to goddess of glam and chaos.
At first, it was fun. She cleaned up neighborhood crime by blinking. She forced that snooty Whole Foods clerk to apologize for rolling his eyes. She glowed.
But then… she saw her.
Brenda. From high school.
Brenda with her loud laugh, and her yacht, and her “Oh, Cindy! Still shopping at Not-Athleta?” energy.
Cindy clenched the cursed compact.
The blush pulsed.
The power whispered: “Wing that eyeliner. Wreck her.”
Mark intervened.
“Hey,” he said, softly. “You okay?”
“I could end her,” Cindy hissed, eyes glittering with both eyeliner and vengeance. “I could make her cry in Nordstrom.”
“You already won, babe. You’ve got a hellhound, supernatural confidence, and cheekbones sharp enough to slice toast.”
Toast barked in agreement. Possibly in fear.
That night, Cindy stood in the bathroom.
The makeup glowed in its case.
It begged.
Just one more swipe.
Just one more spell.
But Cindy closed it.
And gently placed it back in the box marked:
“TO BE DEALT WITH LATER (or thrown into the river).”
The next morning, she wore no makeup.
Just confidence. And a little smugness when Brenda spilled cold brew on herself.