The forlorn stranger stares at me defiantly. Chin raised; I hold her opaline green eyes just as audaciously. Her eerie raven hair angers a few orange strands that further dare to tickle a weary face.
A hand flutters up reluctantly to rest on hard silvering, before flinching back again. Swallowing, I swipe my own palm on frayed denim, and she averts her gaze from mine.
Relentless wisps of unfamiliarity amuse the dyed amber in my inky hair. It seems to play its own game of treacherous, intimate betrayal.
I ignore the tears strolling down her tired face and walk away from the mirror.