They asked what was going on with her.
She never had an answer.
He kissed her where it hurt, blatant poison from his lips infecting her deepest wounds.
She wanted it to hurt, she couldn't bleed, not like she used to; everything would burn.
She craved the rage of the heat - it melted her skin leaving in its place a scarce reminder of what would never return, what could never be forgotten, but what could certainly be erased.
The reflection smirked at her self-righteous martyrdom, her innermost shallowness revealed.
She couldn't stand how it didn't hurt.
She hated the nakedness of her reflection.