He looked up at Astoria, her lip curled into a sneer and her blue eyes spitting sparks. Funny: only when she was furious could he remember the beauty she had been. The work she had had done—the injections, the lifts, the tucks—had been performed by the best cosmetic Healers money could buy, with all the care and precision required of people who spent their life in the public sphere. But however subtle the changes, she had never looked quite herself. Too unmoving. Too stiff. Like she had passed through life without being touched by it.