AN: So, I'm trying a kinda new style of writing, so tell me what you think! See if you can figure out who the characters are! If you can't, just ask and I'll tell you. Alright, thanks!

-Ash

The mirror stand was cluttered with useless things for beauty, tops and caps askew. Brushes for her hair were stacked precariously in a small wooden box, each brush slightly wet. Sprays and blushes peeked out from a half closed drawer, some spilling out onto the floor.

She truly had no need for these products, these enhancers of beauty. Her face was beautiful enough as it was, but she thought not. She was desperate to outshine everyone, to be the one that girls envy and that boys lust for. To own the spotlight was her greatest dream, and she stuck to it.

None of the others understood her fetish, and some resented her for it. He thought he knew, and he tried to help her, fix it, but he didn't know, and he probably never would know. She kept her insecurities under the tightest lock and key, afraid to what those around her might think and say. Yet as he sat at the vanity table, it kept coming to mind; that the products she used didn't cover the non-existent blemishes on her outside, but the scars and damages she had to her inside.

She would spend hours at night perfecting her act, for the morning, layering her true thoughts with those of one obsessed with their looks, full of venom and vanity. He never saw through her layers of, her walls. He only found the fake thoughts, and he bought them. She had hidden herself well, and no one saw through. And slowly, she became less like the real her, and more like the fake thoughts. It became easier to slip into the act, to think the thoughts. She had become someone she was not.