The mirror reflected the most beautiful scene. A young woman, with mahogany hair that spiraled down her back in luminous curls. Her skin the finest porcelain, her lips the perfect crimson. Her dress flowed in the slight draft. Her stomach was large and rounded, carrying the future. If you did not know her, or if you could not tell from her eyes, you would be jealous. She was dazzling.
But in the woman's strange eyes was pain. An utmost unbearable, blazing agony. A guilt so strong it made her sick. She had once wanted this; this beauty, this grace, this half-life. But as she brushed her hand over her protruding stomach, she would do anything, anything at all, just to undo it. To be alive. To grow old. To not be this thing. To have kept her child alive, instead of murdering her. But instead they remained frozen together. Forever.