'Cause I was filled with poison

But blessed with beauty and rage - Lana Del Rey, Ultraviolence

Clad in a maroon gown, Elsa slouched on a velvet sofa and inhaled a long drag on her cigarette. She took another look at the vanity mirror before her, ashamed at the empty, hollow blue eyes staring back, and opted to finish what's left in the Martini glass. The metal toothpick clattering in the empty bowl enraged her, and she contemplated calling the porter for another one. Rows and rows of dresses and gowns scattered around the dressing room lent an otherworldly silence amplifying the raging emptiness within her. Staring at her mink coat hanging on the wall amidst posters of her past self in various films, the vial of cocaine tucked somewhere within its folds called out her name.

Needing a distraction, she looked upon her own image depicted on the posters, each film rendering her face more vacant and empty than the last. Each statement of acclaim from critics plastered over the posters felt like a curse; another nail in her coffin being lowered to its inevitable demise. Still, she clung onto the dresser, as though she were fighting off the demons dragging her closer and closer to that white powdery release. The heavy footsteps headed her way eroded her resolve.

No knock. Before the door opened. She scowled at her manager staring her down, his crisp white suit an emblem of everything she despised.

"You're a wreck," Hans spat, eyes glaring daggers at the film star.

"I don't care," Elsa snarled back.

"You're on-"

"In five minutes, yes, yes," Elsa completed his sentence, digging her nails into the sofa.

"There's something else I need to-"

"Really?" Elsa exclaimed, voice cracking with fury, "We have to go through this now? Right before a shoot?"

Furrowing his brows, Hans pointed a finger at her, "You know goddamned well I'm looking out for your interests, so shut it-"

Elsa snapped away, taking one more drag on the cigarette and begging for the nicotine to dull her brain for whatever was coming next.

"Someone saw you at Perino's with another woman-"

Despite her earlier promise to treat him with silent, icy contempt, Elsa spat a vicious, "Who told you?" in his direction.

"You don't need to know," Hans shot back, "we've gone through this a thousand times before. Stop. Seeing. Women. You have an image to uphold-"

Now the coke was really calling out to her. Pursing her lips, Elsa fought off the tears that were sure to ruin her immaculate makeup.

"-And if the press or the studio gets hold of this, how are we supposed to save your career?"

"What makes you think, for one split-second, I want this career?" Elsa snarled with bitter defiance

Hans covered his eyes, before yelling, "It's not up to you!"

Elsa frowned, and reached for the cigarette, wishing she had laced it with something stronger than tobacco. But like everything else in her life, there was nothing left of it but ash and embers.

"So stop it," Hans spat, pointing two fingers at her, "Or I'll confine you on set like a fucking mannequin."

She scarcely dared to breathe a sigh of relief as he turned and slammed the door behind him. It took every ounce of energy for her to stand up after the verbal beating she just endured, and her resolve melted like ice in the sun. Starting towards her coat, she whirled around when Hans came back again.

"And yes," Hans shouted back at her, "you're on in five minutes!"