I do not know what others see in me. When I look in the mirror, I feel my soul slipping away. All I see is an ice sculpture. Her skin is too flawless, her expression too cold. She is impenetrable.

But I see deeper. She is melting from the inside out. She is an instant away from liquefying and flowing away, leaving no legacy. She is water; nothing more, maybe less.

Her eyes are smeared with yesterday's makeup. It gives her the appearance of death. The darkness contrasts her skin into a white snow, deceivingly virginal. Some find it enchanting. There is no time to get rid of the taint. All I can do is add more, enhancing the ghoulish effect.

Her full lips are bloodless, a shocking pink compared to her marble skin and dead eyes. I return their blood in the form of a red stain. Blood suits her.

Those brown eyes stare at me, intimidating me. They were once gold, a treasure, but that too has been lost. It has been buried so deep in that brown that no one will ever find it. No map was made and none ever will be.

Her hair was once gold as well. It shone like sunlight as it danced in the breeze. Now it is paler, deader; the color of diseased skin. Not one strand flies out of place, a perpetual statue. The locks are forever in that state between straight and curly, as if God couldn't decide and settled on leaving her half finished. He left me half finished.

I peer closer at the reflecting, examining her skin. It is sleek and poreless, paler than death. In a way, it is like diamond with its hard beauty. In another, it is like chalky white limestone, bred off the sacrificed lives of others. The best comparison is opal. It shares that odd luminescence and purity. Colorful veins streak under the surface. Both are meaningless, but not without beauty. That is what I am, a meaningless beauty.

Her figure peeks out from tight clothing, barely encased by the looking glass's frame. Half-formed breasts strain her top, small and round. Some girls envied them while others scoffed in disdain. Men couldn't keep their eyes of them, her, as if they offered the forbidden fruit. Either way, they got a reaction. Her waist flows daintily into the gentle curves of her hips. A small strip of stomach teases from above her waistband, promising the unpromisable. Her body will never fade away. It is the fossilized stone, remaining for eternity while it's insides rot. A living history book.

Her features are delicate. Anyone who looked upon her would think she is strong. But I see the truth. She is fragile, her bones made of glass. With every move, I fear she might break. But she can't break. To break, you must first be whole.

I see all this in the reflection. The glass panel threatens to swallow me, taking what remains of who I once was. That is fine. This is not I. This is a ghost, a shell, a corpse. He killed her. He killed me. We are one and the same, the reflection and I. I lost my life when he took my love. I gave my love. He took my life.

And I want it back.

Ean: This is shorter than I anticipated... it took up three pages in my notebook. Anyway, I guess I'm on a role for updating something everyday.
Nexa: Just because you said that, you will forget tomorrow.
Ean: I'll try, honestly! At least a RimaHiko Poem!
Alexenne: Good luc on that...
Ean: This is just a one-shot. I have really no idea. I just woke up and started writing it. I think RIma (The girl) is a vampire from how I described her. And Nagihiko changed her? I might just use this in the Immortal Mortality series.
Alexenne: Review us your ideas!
Nexa: Review us your critisism!
Ean: Or,you know, just review...