‘All you pretty things.’

Armand studied himself in the mirror.

He liked the fashion of this era. So bright, so glamorous. So many sensuous new fabrics.

So many pretty people.

Sweeping back his, for the moment, black, collar length hair, he pulled down one eyelid and ran a critical finger over the silver glitter he had so meticulously applied there earlier.

A head appeared round the door. ‘Hurry up Malcolm, we’re on next.’

Armand took one final look in the glass, flung his pink feather boa over his shoulder haughtily and exited the room to join the rest of the ‘Flaming Creatures.’