Becoming Anne Again

Chapter Forty-Four

A/N I am for now going to resume posting every Friday. This is subject to change. On another note, pray for your girl who is knee deep in finals and papers. College is fun. 

Thank you so much for sticking with me and reading this! I love you all so much!

Anne examined herself in the mirror, in a way that she hadn't done for a long time. There were no bruises on her skin—just scars and discolorations lining various point of her lower body and neck. She was no longer counting the ribs that protruded from her skin, or squeezing her legs together in some vain attempt to protect herself. She was simply looking at her reflection.

Certainly, her most apparent feature was her bright red hair, curled and pinned halfway back. In her younger years, she had loathed her red hair, because all she wanted was to be like the other blonde haired blue-eyed Barbie dolls that seemed to always earn the remarks that they looked "just like a China doll." She found it hadn't grown on her over the years. Sure, it had been tainted by the fetishization of it, of how it seemed to become an entity all of its own, but beyond that, she couldn't help but wish that she was an exotic hand maiden, or a raven-haired Audrey Hepburn, a fair Ophelia, or the classic Blonde Barbie doll that still plagued her mind.

She just simply did not like her red hair.

The freckles that dotted across the bridge of her nose and cheeks might be deemed cute, but the truth was, during the age when it wasn't uncommon to find a pimple on her skin, more marks were hardly needed. Although, Anne did have that to her advantage—she was certainly not immune to acne, but for the most part her skin remained clear, some miracle of genetics given her history of sleepless nights and poor diet. And while she was not exactly a tanned babe, the softness of her skin leant itself to an overall pleasing aesthetic.

Still, she ran her fingers over her face as she peered at herself in the mirror, scrutinizing herself. It was still soft, but she could feel little bumps underneath her fingertips. Then, slowly, she ran her fingers over her full lips, a blushed pink that was a bit deeper than the natural blush on her cheekbones. If she tilted her head to one side, she could clearly see the clear definition of her clavicle, which seemed elegant.

"Alright," Samantha said, interrupting Anne's musings as she opened the bathroom door, "I have the makeup. But like I said, I'm not exactly much use with it," she said, her own cheeks blushed pink. "But, I've got my phone out and youtube already primed."

Anne smiled fully, her lips stretched out and slightly parted. "That sounds good. I don't have much experience with makeup either, but, I think I like the idea." She tilted her head to one side, her lips screwed together. "Something about being able to transform into someone else—it just seems exquisite."

Samantha smiled tightly, brushing Anne's hair back from her face. "You look beautiful anyway," she said, gently running her hand over Anne's face.

"Thanks," Anne replied half-heartedly, already reaching for the foundation. Soon, the freckles were completely covered, until her face was a blank canvas. Then pink blush was generously brushed against her cheekbones, bringing back her natural flush, and contrasting with the deeper lip color applied, a mixture between a nude and a pink.

"Do you like it?" Samantha asked anxiously, gently resting her hand on Anne's exposed shoulders. Her Victorian-era costume had been lovingly made by Mrs. Rachel Lynde, which were the exact words used by Rachel herself. Her new affections made Anne extremely uncomfortable, but perhaps it only spoke to the fickleness of Mrs. Lynde's own desires, at the moment seeming so transfixed as to have existed for all of eternity, yet being persuaded quite easily, and perhaps she was as compassionate as she was traditional. Nevertheless, somehow, despite having never learned of Anne's plight, she knew enough to be kinder to her, having come to the conclusion that you "catch more flies with honey."