Her hand against the mirror. Two worlds touching: Reality, Fantasy. Such a peaceful action, but her mind is the battlefield, and a war ensues. She is an innocent, used in this war of Good against Evil. Body against mind. Reason against thought. Evil is usually the victor, she fights for it, although it is that which is hurting her.
A hand against the mirror. When looked at properly seems to no longer belong to her. Seems to no longer be what it is supposed to be. But when does anything stay in it's place? Memories escape heads, reason escapes minds, food escapes stomachs.
The hand. Thin. Pale. She can flex her bones and see them move. Her rings no longer fit. Her nails, red, are painted sloppily. It is hard for her to concentrate nowadays, yet now she stares at the hand intensely. Since when could she play her finger bones like piano keys? The hand is innocent, manipulated for this war. Forced to wave away food, and if it fails at that, forced to rid her gut of its poison. After the war the hand will be tainted, never again the same.
The mirror. Cold. Innocent object, how do you hold so much evil without breaking? Evil uses the mirror to win battles. A secret weapon, inescapable. The mirror's surface wavers like water. The reflection ever changing. Mirror, she can affect you with her moods. But that is Evil's doing. Evil masquerades as control. Oh clever Evil, using this mirror as your weapon. This too has been forever changed by this war. Never will she look at the mirror without a glint of hate in her eyes. Hidden, maybe, but Mirror, you will reflect it. Mirror, do you absorb a little of what you reflect? If so then soon you will shatter.
The touch. Two objects, representing a war of years. So innocent, calm, yet their touch sparks a battle. But what is a battle within a war? Tomorrow is another day, another feeling, another touch.
Pain. Sorrow. Innocence. Evil. Control. Lies. War. Her hand against the mirror.
