Disclaimer: I don't own 'The Worst Witch.'
A/N: *waves from rooftop*
Hi folks :) This is just a little one-shot type thing that came into my head. Hopefully how I intend this to be read and how it will be read by you lot, will be along similar lines. *fingers crossed* My laptop took nearly an hour to do start-up repair (don't even get me started), so I figure I'll just take the chance and upload this whilst it is actually on, lol.
The title comes from the song 'The Wicked Witch of The East' from the fantabulosa musical that is 'Wicked.'
Enjoy!
S x
All alone and loveless here, with just the girl in the mirror.
Just The Girl In The Mirror
If you were to look at Constance Hardbroom you would immediately see a force to be reckoned with; a strong and independent witch: one whose command of her craft is impressive bar none and whose power is more or less unmatchable.
If you were to look at Constance Hardbroom you could immediately tell that she is not a woman to mess with – everything about her conveys this. From her power to her great height, though her tall stance is not the only thing that makes people take notice, to the piercing glares as her eyes bore into your own; one glare able to strike more fear into the hearts of her students than any words ever could.
If you were to look at Constance Hardbroom you would immediately see a beautiful woman with a slim figure, well-sculpted enviable cheekbones and long dark flowing hair. A woman born with a natural air of grace and it shows, the confidence and control practically exudes from her.
If you were to look at Constance Hardbroom then would see all of this, on the surface at least, but if you were to look that little bit closer for that little bit longer, then would see the illusion melt away and dissolve into nothing before another-and very different-image appears before your eyes.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror, stripped down to her underwear, it's a far cry from the witch you will normally just see at a mere glance. Her every flaw is on show for all to see, even though there is no one around to see it, her every imperfection, every mutilation that marks her porcelain skin; every little bit of evidence that shows the hardship she's suffered through.
Standing alone in her room, she doesn't seem half as imposing as the light catches the deep scars that weave around her skeletal frame like a spider's web.
She is both tragically beautiful and beautifully tragic.
As she stares at the image of the woman before her, a woman she recognises all too well, a single tear leaks from her dark eyes and rolls down her cheek. She doesn't bother to wipe it away, instead she strokes the lone tear of her reflection before she raises her spell casting fingers and points them at the mirror; the shards of glass showering everywhere as it's shattered into a million pieces, until it is broken...
...just like she is.
A scared little girl who is crying; one who is screaming out for help as she claws frantically at the prison of glass she is trapped in. She is desperate to escape, but the day never comes, because no one hears her plea...and no one ever will.
Stealing a glance at the clock, she lets out a small sigh.
Soon she is ready to face the world.
Dressed in black, the long dress covers most of her body; hiding the dark secrets of her past and truths that sometimes even her eyes can struggle to conceal. With her long dark hair tied up in its usual tight bun and her make-up applied with a seemingly flawless effort, the cover-up papering over the cracks and gaping imperfections, she is a true picture of authority; a picture of perfection.
Soon the mask is perfectly in place.
Soon the façade will commence once more.
If you were to look at Constance Hardbroom you would immediately see a force to be reckoned with; a beautiful woman who is confident and strong, but if you were to see Constance Hardbroom, then you would see the girl...
...the girl in the mirror.