I watch as she moves closer to the mirror, her fingertips brushing back her auburn bangs as the tip of the pen sweeps elegantly over her eyelids. She slowly sketches a black line above her lash line, her eyelids quivering just a tiny bit when it made contact. The line she creates is crisp, precise. She bobs her head, pleased with her work.
She reaches for her tube of lipstick next. As usual, she curls her thumb and middle finger over the cylindrical cap and twists it loose. With little effort, it comes off and the silver is removed to reveal a pastel pink underneath. I love the way she parts her full lips ever so slightly and pucker them like a small flower bud. Carefully, she paints them with the hand of an artist, not a stroke out of place.
To her side, a dainty bottle perches quietly, waiting. She picks it up and sprays a cloud of perfume over her neck. The scent lingers in the air for several seconds before diffusing, and I smile. I hover, my body made of mist and smoke, breathing in her sweet aroma. It smells sweet, soothing, and I close my eyes to savor it.
She stares directly at her reflection and breaks out into a blinding smile. Her focus is wholly on her appearance, and she doesn't know that I'm watching, too. In the mirror, she can't see that I'm at her side, observing her with soft, loving eyes, soaking in the details that I've memorized years and years before. I watch her, smiling and happier than I've ever seen her.
She's beautiful. She's perfect, and she is mine.
YOU ARE READING
The Shadow
HorrorThe first time I saw her, I knew that I was going love her. Her, with strands of reddish-brown hair escaping her ponytail as she sprinted across the field. Her, with sun-kissed skin and almond eyes, radiating light when she laughed. From then on, I...
