She was decorated with self-inflicted scars: memories of wounds to her pride, her mind, her heart. They lay hidden beneath sleeves worn extra long; glimmering in secret, a silent testament to ruthless torture.

She smiled for me, and was beautiful. Her green eyes glowed as an angel emerged. No trace of fear or doubt, or the anger that lay locked within her lonely soul. Only confidence she'd never felt and happiness she'd learned to pretend.

Pleased with the flawless facade, I stepped away from the mirror.