(Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Moulin Rouge or the characters in any way; all rights are reserved to Baz Luhrmann)

When I first arrived in this place, I remember I was met with a mirror first. It was just innocently stood there, observing me as I observed it. My eyes were the first thing I noticed. Round and wide with the unknown, with unvoiced fear that ran frighteningly through my veins with an untamed ferocity.

The first man I took, the more tamed that ferocity became. I learned that night, as I took him in my arms, not to fight. Instead I closed my eyes and counted up to fifty, slowly, waiting for him to finish which he did with a shuddering moan that cut through my entire being.

I was naive, the mirror proved that when I got back, stumbling through the back halls and to my room through the mist of tobacco smoke and heavy stench of liquor. The stockings were too tight and my corset was driving me mad, constricting me until I couldn't breathe any longer! Tripping towards my bed, the mirror taunted me as it reflected me. Ripped stockings a bruising eye that would be hid the next morning with excessive make-up.

It was as if it were telling me to grow up. Asking me what else I was expecting of this place - teasing me because my fifteen year old gaze didn't understand the torture my mind would be put through.

Sleep. Yes, it watched me as I slept that night, tossing and turning, wanting nothing more but to rid the image of that man from my young mind, but it was futile. So I sat in silence, propped up against the wall upon a thin mattress that offered no comfort, the scratchy wool covers offering no warmth against the night's cool air.

Now. Now I sit in acceptance with the mirror. Every morning, when the grey light of the early morning comes seeping through the small windows of my room, I push myself off of that same thin mattress, emerging from those cruel covers to reach for a woman I no longer recognise.

Harsh kohl-rimmed eyes gaze back at me, my brown eyes reflecting almost black and my hair strained back tightly in pins, no longer free like it was as a child. I realise everything about me is sharp and I'm momentarily drawn in by my pronounced cheekbones, contouring my face in precise angles. Everything about me is bitter, by attitude, my tongue. Everything.

The woman stares back at me, lips pressed into a thin line, hands clutching at yellow skirts, fraying at the bottom. She moves when I do to observe her stockings, black like her eyes, unharmed from holes and ladders; an achievement in itself that she's had them for a week and no harm have come to them. The thought sets a private smirk upon her lips, but as soon as she meets my eyes, it falls and a hand comes up to meet my own, palm to palm as her eyes narrow then widen and she throws my hand away.

Because this woman doesn't want to acknowledge the fear in my eyes. She wants to see the fire that burns in her own gaze, smouldering coals as pupils and her head just lifted so she looks down upon me in superiority. Locking my jaw, I square my shoulders and inhale sharply, watching her disdainful gaze fade as she disappears, leaving me alone once again with the mirror once more.

It doesn't take much but once glance and I see that smirk once more, except this time, it's me.

A/N – A quick one-shot for you! I've been wanting to write a short insight to Nini's character for quite some time. I honestly think out of all of the diamond dogs, she's the most hurt one of all, always hiding her pain until it builds to create the mask of that sarky character we're all familiar with.

If you have time to review, please do! They make my day and I truly do appreciate the feedback.

Thanks, Katie1995. :)