The nail

"Last time I saw her, she looked stunning. She stood at the edge of the gas lamp, drying off the wet corner of her cherished lavendar-brocade. She adorned finely cut amethyst and kohl. "
The index finger clamping the fabric had an infected nail.
Fungus that shot immense pain when in contact with toxic chemicals that those silly companies could not avoid in detergents. You would seldom miss the nail paint on the finger nail. It alleviates her pain. Just this nail...
There she stood musing in part relief, part trepidation.