Prompt: The word "roots"
Characters: Rosalie
Status: All human
"I can never cover up these damn roots." Jessica Stanley hissed, while Lauren Mallory frowned in the mirror, examining her own scalp
Rosalie snorted, feeling pity for them as she examined her freshly manicured nails.
"Miss Hale?" a voice called
"Oh, it's you." Rosalie smiled, upon seeing her hair stylist, "Felix, I'm going to need my hair to be curled for the shoot."
"Are you sure? Don't they usually want pin straight hair?"
"Not when you're doing a full spread and are coating their precious cover." She snapped
Felix let out a "hmph" of agreement and continued to play with her long golden strands of hair.
"I just don't know how you do it." Jessica sighed, plopping down in the chair beside Rosalie, "How does it feel to be so famous? I can barely book half of the go-sees I go to!"
"Boring." Rosalie smirked
"Boring?" Lauren repeated, making it sound like a question, "How can a life the life of a rich and famous supermodel be boring?"
"It was nice at first." She admitted, smiling at distant memories and then returning to her usual icy glare, "But yes, now it's boring. I've grown tired of sitting and being primped to be proper. It's such tedious work having to smile at endless flashbulbs, while trying to maneuver a dress that's train is taller than you down a winding red carpet, while little girls scream at you and tell you that they want to be just like you."
Though she didn't add it out loud, she also was sick of never eating a thing, and going to get her teeth bleached every other Friday.
Beauty was a burden to her, and she only modeled to escape her parents. A father who abused her every chance that he got, and a mother, who was too much of a coward to tell anyone.
She envied one of her constant photographers. Isabella Swan. Gifted and talented with photography, and pretty enough to get by. Long, naturally wavy brown hair, and big, glassy, chocolate brown eyes. Always behind the lens, never in front if it. Never feeling pressure of any kind. Getting nice take out lunches delivered to her by her god of a boyfriend.
It was a shame really, to have so much, yet so little. Rosalie envied her so.
She could eat all that she wanted. Never had to get her hair or makeup done. Could date who she wanted.
If she, Isabella Swan, wanted to date the burly architect who built most of the runways that Rosalie walked on, she could. But Rosalie Hale, a supermodel who ought to know better, was left to date sleazy, rich pricks, like Royce King, and could only admire her crush, as he set up the platforms for her to walk across, flaunting her beauty to a world of people with fake smiles, lots of money, and their natural roots shining through their fake platinum blonde hair.
Please review (:
