Porcelain

She had been a figure of perfection, a priceless porcelain doll. Admired by all and envied by many. Any first class woman would have killed for her position in society, engaged to one of the most powerful steel tycoons in the world, beautiful and obedient.

Like hell she was!

Rose picked up the hand mirror and let it sit in her hand as she studied the reflection gazing back at her.

Her beautiful, unique red hair hung limp and lifeless around her face, her curls were tangled in clumps, unclean and unkempt and seemed darker, more brunette. Her hair felt heavy on her shoulders like there was a weight that needed to be lifted, yet would not lift.

Her eyes that, just days ago had held such love and hope for the future, were lifeless and had turned from a sky blue to a watery grey. Gone was the spark that had held the ambitions of a teenage girl, in its place, nothing but a dark void that lead straight into her soul. Man, it was dark in there. Dark circles had appeared on her pasty white face in these past few days, from lack of sleep? Or from grief? She didn't know and it didn't matter to her.

Her lips were dry and chapped and she could see the dry flakes crumble and detach before falling to the floor, lost forever. They started to bleed.

Her face was pale, she noted. Even with the excessive amounts of make-up she had been made to wear before, she was sure she had never been this pale. She looked unhealthy. Which only figured, as she was, what could be classed as unhealthy? She hadn't eaten or slept in... Five days. Had it really been that long already? Impossible.

She had lost weight that much was obvious, her cheekbones were visible and she had never seen them so apparent, digging out into her flesh, almost reaching the dark circles. Beneath the thick jacket she now wore, her arms were skeletal, almost. She traced her fingers across her ribcage with her other hand, she could feel them beneath the thick material, each bone she felt added to her sudden feeling of self-loathing. She could she her face shape clearly now, she saw the outline of her jaw bone until it disappeared behind her ear. hmm. No, she didn't like it at all.

What would Jack think if he saw her now?

Don't you dare mention his name!

She let her fingers trace along her reflection, letting the cool glass sooth her burning fingers. Was she ill? She didn't think so. But it had been cold, too cold...

Her fingers traced the reflections face, which was staring back at her, expressionless. She lifted the mirror, eyes still locked with those of the reflection, so it was above her head. Who was this girl- woman staring back at me? Leave me alone! Just leave me alone! Stop looking at me. This was not Rose Dewitt-Bukater. This wasn't even Rose Dawson. Surely she, this model of perfection had not sunk to being no more than a broken doll!? With no-one to seek comfort in but a shadow of her former self? No.

Then, her vision started to blur and she waited until the tears came. She watched them, each one slowly meandering down her face and dropping off her chin, and the next one, and the next one. She let the last one fall before again looking into the mirror. The tears had landed perfectly, they chased each other around the glass before linking together, enough of them to cover her reflection, like a mask, a blur of white, black, brown, red. She prefered it that way.

She put the mirror down and looked away.

The porcelain cracked.

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