People in the throes of love all did things they believed were the most wonderful parts of being in love.
At such times, lovers saw each other as one of a kind, while everyone else was insignificant.
Georgiana held the straight razor in her hand and gently placed it against the soft face of France's Cromwell.
In the bluish dawn light streaming through the window, the sharp blade scraped across the stubble with a soft rasp. The cheeks that had sprouted a blue shadow overnight became smooth as a woman's again after the blade passed over them.
Nobles of the old era applied powder to their faces after washing them, but she thought of the aftershave business. Mint reduced inflammation and skin oil...
"Press harder," Leon said softly. "You didn't shave it clean."
"I'm afraid of hurting you," she said timidly.
"You want me to go out looking like a mangy dog?" he teased.
"I was planning to practice on those beggars," she said unhappily.
"This is my privilege. I can be your practice subject. I want this tenderness all to myself."
"I feel dizzy," she said dejectedly. "Can I not see Sieyès today?"
"No," he said gently. "Keep shaving, Georgiana. When you're done, I'll give you a reward."
"I don't want a necklace," she said at once. "I know the story of Marie Antoinette's necklace."
"I know. Other than that Black Swan Necklace, you'd rather wear nothing around your neck. What a waste of such a beautiful curve." He stroked her long neck. It was a trace left behind by her attempt at becoming an Animagus. Fortunately, her mouth had not turned into one like a swan's.
Though both were pure-blood supremacists, Grindelwald had a far better reputation than Voldemort.
He cared greatly about decorum. Even Muggle corpses were