As I sat before the mirror, a young woman I scarcely saw appeared before me. Her face—captivating and beautiful—stared blankly into my own. Her almond eyes, dark and indifferent, then twinkled in recognition, as if meeting an old friend she had not expected to see. It had been so long since her last visit, I had not expected her either. A creature of caprice she was, only at her own whim did she appear before me without warning.
She smiled, and two deep dimples upon her smooth cheeks carved their place; this indentation, though a muscular defect, only sweetened the expression of her now-delighted face. Her wavy hair, dark and long, cascaded over her shoulder, where the light, as it were his lips, kissed her skin and left a soft, golden glimmer. My gaze, intense and thirsty, drank in the sculpted arc of her collarbone—sharp enough to carve desire, soft enough to cradle whispers. Then to the slender curve of her waist my eyes came to rest, where silk might pool and his strong hands might linger, tracing the delicate grace of her feminine limbs. In my excitement, I seized the nearest device I could find to preserve this mesmerising moment of her apparition, lest she disappear again before I could claim her enchanting charm as my own. But on the screen, a different image was revealed, as if her grace had been redrawn by the hands of the unskilled. She looked dull, her colours cheapened, like a withered flower no man would pick, let alone admire.
Perplexed, I looked again at the mirror, and there she remained, unaltered, watching me with the same steady gaze. I smiled, but she smiled prettier. On the phone, I set my eyes once more. Why could I never capture her spirit?
Upon noticing the frown on my face, something within her wavered. She withdrew, the sparkle in her eyes extinguished. Then, poising the device before her frontispiece, she donned a posture of borrowed confidence.
In the name of beauty, in the name of vanity, she veiled her awakened insecurity, beneath the false allure of mystery.