The Image

She stood there in front of the mirror. Her hair straight, smooth and shiny with a few plaits falling out on the side cheek. The image of her face showing up, not her real, as if she was showing the world the reflection of her own self, the self that was glorious, famed and desirable. The eyes sparkled in the flawless glowing face of her virtualisation, as if shying away of her own beautiful realisation; the smile, subtle and meek, curved around a pair of luscious leaves, red and rosy, dripping the affection for her very reflection, realising the worldly fact that this beautiful self of her is no other than herself, wondering at her own beautiful countenance, her skin, clad in purple, flashing like one of those featured page three personalities. 
She put her hand on the mirror, meeting with that of her other side, as if wanting to touch that distant self, to make her feel closer, more imminent, asking her to be on her side forever and never be separated again.
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