2019-10-10 - Such A Pretty Face

Juliaaaaa

She's in front of the mirror, getting ready to go out. Her lips are the color of fire engines, of a juicy apple, the kind of red that winds up with lipstick names like Rebel Red, Crimson Kiss, or Scarlet Harlot.

There's no point, Julia.

She'd never worn makeup until she got out of the asylum. It had taken practice, and now she knows she can stare into the mirror and produce an ideal cat-eye. It's important to know these things. How to best accentuate the shape of one's eyes or face. To hide the blemishes.

It doesn't matter how much makeup you wear, Julia. It doesn't matter how pretty you are on the surface. They can see inside you. They can all see inside you. They know you're broken. And no one wants a broken toy.

She stares in the mirror at her reflection. Dark hair and eyes, the latter falling in waves around her shoulders, the latter a warm brown, but capable of such electricity when she's passionate.

No one wants you, Julia. Not as kin. Not as a lover. Not as a friend. You forced your way into the friendships you've made, and those who do give you any regard only do so out of pity.

What's the point of such a pretty face? It's wasted on you. You're worthless.

Julia knows it isn't true. The voices are a lie. They're tools the Dark Men use to try to derail her, to make her doubt herself. She tells herself that they're afraid, and that they're doing what they can to stop her from experiencing what starves them. Joy. Peace. Love. They're afraid of her power.

Yes, you're powerful. But that only makes you dangerous. Something to be feared, and rejected. Juliaaaaa...

Her mouth pressing against itself, she picks up her purse, tucks it under her arm, and heads for the door.