Nothing fazes her except the actual truth, whatever that is. The lies coating her mind drags her under with a potent accuracy. Devils constantly crooning lullabies gently in her ear as if attempting to soothe away the nothingness she desperately tries to hide inside. She's deeper than you think is – much deeper – but she lacks the substance to keep going despite the depth she clutches in her weary soul. Bitter words lace along her darted tongue as disappointment shrouds her in thick blankets of impendent doom. On the lookout for an opportunity to strike, hovering, lingering, stalking and watching with knowing eyes, a loud sigh is passed between her cracked lips, flecks of blood stains her chin as she tilts it above the zero line.

I look at her and think to myself, millions of half-coherent ill formed questions buzzing through my head. She's so broken, how does she remain upright? Where does she find the strength to carry on and smile when her knees tremble with each step she takes towards the door? Is she oblivious to her very own suffering when everyone else around her is pulled against their will into her black hole of sorrow, the pit of nightmares? My breath catches in my throat as the light temporarily blinds me. Stunned and disorientated, hungry and weak for something I cannot place my finger upon, I rise wearily and trot after her, obedience of a young puppy showing. Each whimper she swallows only highlights the difficulty of the guise she is trying to pull off. But I see everything, even the things I don't want to see. I see all the tears that have never shed from her eyelids. I see every rejection her heart suffered no matter how impassive her mask is. I see the pale fingers curled into fists when happiness shuns her and she is left in a dark corner to brood. Dark hair, indefinable in colour, milky white skin, perhaps whiter than milk itself. Eyes that never change no matter what torments her hasty mind, a mouth that is chapped and sore, adored by dried blood flecks. Silently… All by her lonesome, she breaks down without shedding a single tear. I watch, forevermore. Never patient. Never hurried. Just watching. She wonders what she did to deserve this but dismisses any self-pitying thoughts nanoseconds after they conceive. It's fruitless wondering. It's hopeless crying or asking herself why. Why what? Why all the pain? Why the loneliness? Why the sorrow that never leaves even if there is no just cause to build itself on? The seconds tick by, she stares into the glass. Unwavering. Unseeing. Unfeeling. Deprived. She sits there for hours while I watch her marble features battle time. She sits there every single night. Insomniac. Miserable. Too scared to ask for help. Petite fingers touch the cool surface, nails scrapped uselessly.

"How did you become like this?" She whispers to no one in particular. "What have you done?" Mirrors, unfortunately, do not have the ability to lie. She sees everything and understands nothing. Staring, I follow her gaze. What I see makes my blood run cold. My heart stops for a few seconds while my brain pushes emergency buttons and nausea grips me within its bloody claws. Mirrors don't lie. Living as a hollow shell. Nothing will be the same. Nothing can go back to what it once was. Mirrors never lie. And I've become someone I swore I wouldn't become.

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I'm sick of looking in the mirror.