Sarah stared at her reflection in the dimly lit bathroom mirror, methodically applying her everyday makeup routine. Foundation, concealer, blush – the familiar ritual brought comfort in its mundanity. But lately, something felt different.

“You’re going to be late again,” her roommate Rachel called from outside.

“Just finishing up,” Sarah responded, her hand trembling slightly as she applied mascara. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead.

She’d been using the same drugstore makeup brands for years. Nothing special, nothing expensive. Just the basics needed to face the world each day. But over the past week, she’d noticed changes. Subtle at first – a slight tingling sensation when applying foundation, the way her skin seemed to absorb the products more eagerly than before.

“Seriously Sarah, we need to go!” Rachel’s impatient voice pierced through her thoughts.

Sarah leaned closer to the mirror, examining her face. Was it her imagination, or did her skin look different today? More porcelain-like, almost artificial. She pressed a finger against her cheek, expecting to feel the familiar warmth of flesh, but instead encountered a cool, waxy texture.

“I’ll just take an Uber,” Rachel shouted, followed by the slam of their apartment door.

Alone now, Sarah noticed the bathroom had grown unnaturally quiet. The usual hum of the ventilation system seemed muted, as if sound itself was being absorbed into the walls. Her reflection stared back at her, but something was wrong with the eyes. They looked glassy, doll-like.

With trembling fingers, she reached for a makeup wipe. As she dragged it across her cheek, no product came off. She scrubbed harder, her movements becoming frantic. The skin beneath felt smooth, impossibly smooth, like plastic.

“This isn’t happening,” she whispered to her reflection. But it was.

The makeup she’d applied daily, the simple products she’d never given much thought to, had been slowly replacing her real face. Layer by layer, day by day, until what looked back at her now was a perfect mask – flawless, ageless, and completely artificial.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Rachel: “You ok? You’ve been weird lately.”

Sarah’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, but what could she say? That her drugstore makeup was literally becoming her face? That she could feel it hardening, spreading, sealing her real self away beneath its perfect surface?

She looked in the mirror one last time. The face that stared back was beautiful – the kind of beauty that graced magazine covers and billboard advertisements. The kind of beauty society had always told her to strive for. And now she had it, permanently.

Her phone buzzed again: “Hello? Sarah?”

She picked up her makeup bag, already knowing what she had to do. Rachel would need to be warned. All of them would. About the true cost of trying to meet impossible standards, about how the simple act of covering up imperfections could become something far more sinister.

But as she reached for the door handle, she caught a final glimpse of her reflection. Her new face smiled back, and for a terrifying moment, she wasn’t sure if she had made that expression at all.