"Almost done, Mulan."
She feels something light brush against her eyelids. It tickles her. She wants to swipe at it, hit it away, but she won't, because that is unladylike—no, unprincesslike. She is not a real princess. She doesn't belong here, anyways.
"You don't have to use a paintbrush anymore; they have this cool new thing called lipstick!" Unmistakably Ariel's voice.
Something wet grazes across Mulan's lips, over her mouth. She resists the urge to lift up her sleeve, wipe it away.
"Are you putting makeup on?" she asks quietly, parting her lips ever so slightly.
"Hold still" is all she gets in response.
"We're done, you can open your eyes!" Cinderella's voice is high-pitched, squealing with excitement.
But Mulan doesn't want to open her eyes, she doesn't want to see what kind of sickeningly pretty creature they created out of her, she doesn't want to look in the mirror.
"Mulan, open your eyes. C'mon, we haven't got all day." Cinderella's tone turns impatient.
She breathes slowly and opens them.
They turned her into a porcelain doll.
Her face is pure white, white as snow, and with unmistakable blush on her cheeks. Her lips are bright red, radiant, could be seen from a mile away. They have put mascara on her face, put eyeliner on, put everything on Mulan to make her look beautiful…attractive.
She looks like a puppet. The makeup just isn't her. She's drowning in the thick makeup and that ridiculous golden dress that swoops and swirls every time she moves. She looks like a princess, a precious, delicate porcelain doll that could be shattered with just one touch of a hand.
She wants to be shattered, she wants to break, she wants it all off of her. A pretty porcelain doll is her reflection, and she wants to shatter it into a million pieces.
"Do you like it?" Snow White asks, placing a cool hand on Mulan's shoulder.
No, she hates it, she hates it, it's awful, it's disgusting, and it's not her.
"I hate it," she whispers quietly.
Snow sighs. "I knew you would. You're not the type of girl who likes makeup."
"Take it off," she demands.
Snow smiles, rather devilishly. It doesn't look right on her, just like how the makeup doesn't look right on Mulan. "Sorry, Mulan. Can't do that. Not today, at least."
Mulan categorizes the Princesses as dolls.
There's the typical popular ones, like Snow White, Cinderella, Aurora, Belle, Ariel, Jasmine, who are little dolls, pleased to be toyed around with as long as they are in the spotlight and still pretty.
There's the new ones, Tiana, Rapunzel, Merida, who have no idea what is going on and are immediately changed for the 'better'.
(Mulan calls it 'evil').
And then there is her, and Pocahontas (who looks like a Halloween Indian Princess costume), who are always standing off to the sides, too delicate to be played with. The makeup is still fresh, they say. They don't want to ruin it.
In other words, she is a porcelain doll, fragile, not wanted in the scenes for fear they might break her. They don't want to break her, at least. Not yet.
But she wants to be broken, just shatter her, that's all she wants, to be broken in a million pieces, not repairable, because she hates this. She hates the makeup, it's just not right on her, it's not meant for her.
End my torture, she screams. Splinter me, break me in half, don't make me be a porcelain doll anymore, let me take off the makeup.
But nobody does, and nobody listens to her. Because porcelain dolls are silent creatures, and they never talk.