Façade

She gazed into the mirror. The reflection was far beyond recognition.
A pair of glasses abated the depth of her eyes, that were a tinted green and full of sorrow. Those that gazed back were grey and without passion.
Her flowing hair seemed wiry thin. She would tug at them but the wig would not shed. The sparse whites spoke of a ghastly truth of which she was in denial.
Her skin was dry and freckled. She would scratch away at it, hoping that it would peel off to reveal suppleness and delicacy. But she would only leave behind another white scar.
The dark hue beneath her eyes spoke of many sleepless nights. It gave her many more.
She pursed her lips. They were thin and dry, devoid of any life and colour. If she smiled, her visage would assume a look of haughtiness.
She turned away from her looking glass, and as she did, she buried the thought.
In her ignorance, she found strength to face the day ahead.