"Face paint?" the shopkeeper wheezed, peering over a stack of yellowing maps. "You won't find the good stuff in a tube at the pharmacy. That's just colored grease. It cracks before the first dance is over."
The air in the thrift store smelled like old paper and cedar, but Jax was on a mission that required something far more vibrant. He was building a masterpiece—a costume for the masquerade that was half-clockwork soldier, half-celestial nightmare—and his own skin was the final canvas. where do i buy face paint
Jax leaned in. "I need something that moves. Something that looks like starlight and oil." "Face paint