she looked herself in the mirror, tilting her head ever so slightly and watching as the light brown hair fell delicately across her pale skin, exposing her pungent collar bone beneath the blue slip provided for her.
she wanted to snort; she wanted to laugh or even cry at the irony, but the reflection in front of her stood still—cracked lips in a fine line, and eyes that held anything but a spark bearing holes in her head. on her skin, recovering burns were visible with scars on her front, but neither this nor the dead expression were what captured her distaste.
again she tilted her head; the light brown hair shifting in its place, reaching beyond her elbow as her arms dangled at her sides. the color was brighter than her eyes but still a dull brown; the length was longer than it was in her life before, but it was still her hair. though the blonde was replaced with brown and the shoulder length replaced with one longer, the hair on her head was still hers, as though she was the same person through and through.
in an instant her fist collided with the glass mirror in front of her—the piercing sound of the shatter ringing in her ears, but it wasn't like she couldn't hear anything anyway.
sweat began to secrete from her skin as she removed her fist from the spider web she created, watching as glass began to slowly fall from its place and into the sink; the bits in her hand easily moved by her breath, and the blood that trickled from her knuckles already staining the cracks in her skin, but again, this was not what bothered her.
she didn't feel pain. she didn't feel a sting from the glass still stuck to the tears in her skin, or a throb from her fist colliding with an inanimate object. she didn't feel anything; she didn't feel a thing but the strands of her light brown hair softly draping themselves over her skin.
without thinking, she grabbed for the mirror in front of her; stubs of nails itching at the exposed surface for the largest mobile piece, retrieving their target with another loud snap. in a blur, she brought the shard of glass to the crevice between the base of her neck and her disgustingly prominent collar bone, grabbing a fist full of hair and swiftly carrying the jagged edge across the strands.
one by one they fell into the sink; brown hair starkly contrasting with the white porcelain, covering inch by inch until she decided to stop.
she looked herself in the mirror, tilting her head ever so slightly and watching as the light brown locks seemed to levitate in the darkness behind her, exposing her pungent collar bone ever more so beneath the ironic blue slip.
perhaps now she could play make believe again.