“My dear Lady Fairfax,” Mrs. Pembroke’s voice dripped with feigned concern, “whatever has happened to your… eyebrows?”
The drawing room fell silent as all eyes turned to the newest arrival. Lady Eleanor Fairfax stood frozen in the doorway, her usually impeccable appearance marred by two perfectly straight, unnaturally rigid lines above her eyes - the result of an overzealous application of the latest beauty innovation: eyebrow gel.
“The latest from Paris,” Lady Fairfax replied stiffly, both in manner and facial movement. “One must keep up with the times, mustn’t one?”
“Indeed,” tittered Miss Catherine Blackwood from behind her fan. “Though perhaps not at the expense of looking quite so… startled.”
Lady Fairfax attempted to furrow her brow in disapproval, but found she could not. The gel had hardened into an impenetrable shell, leaving her expression permanently fixed in a state of mild surprise.
“I purchased it from that peculiar new shop on Baker Street,” she explained, taking a seat near the fireplace. “The proprietor was most… unusual. An ancient Chinese woman who spoke of beauty secrets passed down through centuries.”
“How frightfully exotic,” Mrs. Pembroke drawled. “Though I dare say, dear, you might have been better served by your usual powder and pencil.”
As the evening progressed, Lady Fairfax began to experience an odd sensation. Her eyebrows seemed to be growing increasingly rigid, spreading a strange numbness across her forehead. When she attempted to reach up and touch them, her hand wouldn’t move.
“Are you quite well, Eleanor?” Lady Winchester asked, noticing her friend’s distress. “You’ve gone rather pale.”
“I…” Lady Fairfax tried to speak, but her lips barely moved. “I feel most peculiar.”
The room’s atmosphere shifted as the other ladies noticed something was terribly wrong. Lady Fairfax’s entire face had become as rigid as her eyebrows, her skin taking on an almost porcelain-like quality.
“Good heavens!” Miss Blackwood exclaimed. “She’s turning to stone!”
Indeed, the transformation was spreading rapidly. Within moments, Lady Eleanor Fairfax had become a perfect statue, frozen in time with her eternally surprised expression.
The horror that followed was tempered only by the society’s steadfast refusal to acknowledge anything truly unpleasant. The ladies simply adjusted their conversations around their newly statuesque friend, occasionally using her as a convenient coat rack.
Years passed, and the story of Lady Fairfax became a cautionary tale about the dangers of vanity and foreign beauty products. Until one day, a young debutante entered that very same shop on Baker Street…
“Ah,” the ancient shopkeeper smiled, her eyes twinkling with recognition. “You have returned, Lady Fairfax. Perhaps this time, you will choose more wisely?”
The young woman blinked in confusion, but as she caught her reflection in the shop’s dusty mirror, a flash of recognition crossed her face. Her hand flew to her eyebrows, remembering a rigid sensation from what felt like a previous life.
“No, thank you,” she said firmly, backing away from the counter. “I believe I shall stick to powder and pencil after all.”
The shopkeeper’s laughter followed her out onto Baker Street, where London’s fog swallowed her retreating figure, leaving only the echo of a lesson learned across lifetimes about the true price of vanity.