The Definition of Womanhood
She stood naked and exposed before the mirror, violent red hair spilling in distressed curls over her milky skin. Brilliant emerald eyes stared out from behind the long, shrouding bangs, exploring her body, the marks on her skin, the curves of her breasts, the tiny, perky nipples, the rough, unshaven legs covered in small, thin spikes of blonde.
She was entirely a woman. The arc her shoulders made with her long, elegant neck made her sure of that. Recently, she had questioned that, had questioned her beauty and her femininity, her love, her unyielding devotion... Every morning for the past month she had come to stare in this mirror, finding a gaunt, dying reflection there. Her breasts had seemed to sag, her skin to wrinkle and fade to gray, her limbs to stick out awkwardly at all angles. Every morning for the past month she had turned her green eyes from the mirror in disgust and shame, had washed her face, and thrown her curls into a bun and gone about her daily business.
But tonight... Tonight, with the wind and rain howling outside, the lightning cracking her skull, there had been a change.
Eyes ran searchingly, inquisitively over her entire form. Her skin seemed to radiate a new sort of light, something she hadn't seen in it since this whole bloody war began. In the last year or so, she had watched her reflection become gaunt, tarnished. She had observed the young beauty of a twenty-something fade into near-elderly dullness, bending beneath age and emotional pain and mental strife.
But tonight, she could see the young angel barreling through in her eyes, repossessing her form, transforming her into the woman she was intended to be.
The bathroom's fluorescent lighting glinted in her face, bouncing off her cheeks and revealing tiny drops of salt which tracked across her skin and mingled with the tiny, sad sort of smile that had recently appeared on her full, supple lips. Slowly, shakily, a silken hand rose from her side and hesitantly pressed itself to her stomach. A new wave of tears spilled from her eyes, clouding her vision and the depths of those sparkling emeralds. The smile gained force, but not quite as much as the sadness in her eyes.
Slowly, she pushed the bathroom door open, tender hand still clutching her stomach. The fluorescent light spilled into the darkened room, revealing a figure on the bed, nestled deep into the covers. From behind a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, brilliant blue eyes blinked into the light, covering her form.
Swallowing hard, she pressed both hands to her fleshy, feminine stomach, took a breath, and spoke. "James," Lily said gently, a hint of excited fear in her musical voice, "I have something important to tell you."