So the mirror said to her that she looked ugly...
And hence she retired to darkness.
Confined to a room. She and her perfumes.
Perfumes keep her alive.
The dead extraction of the once living flowers.
She talks to herself, and the herself she hears has the same voice.
The voice of herself becomes her mirror.
The voice of herself would tell her filthy, ugly and beautiful things.
Her voice became her armour.
She wore it like hands and arms.
She fought with the ghosts not outside but within.
They were stronger.
She became the hero among the rebounding voice of herself.
The walls would know her, her gumptions, her schmaltz hidden when she would narrate the story to walls.
Her sobs, when she pretended smiling.
Her smiles when she had a déjà vu of the first kiss.
The first kiss reminded her of the fragrance.
Turning the smiles into sobs.
Every time she would wail, the mirror would talk to her.
The mirror, the voice of herself.
That she looked ugly..