I am pretty, she thought in denial, I am pretty.

The girl had been staring into the same mirror for hours and, indeed, she was beautiful. Her eyes were a shining dark brown. Her lips were full and a light pink, a sign of youthful vigor. Her cheek bones were adjusted by God to caress the bounty of smiles that stretched her cheeks, the smiles that flashed white, perfectly aligned teeth that held no trace of braces. The plethora of cuticles that embraced the sides of her face cascaded down her shoulders by the whisk of a slight, airy toss.

Anyone could say she was pretty.

As she looked into the mirror, a screech of tires branded her mind with a sizzle. A scream. A crash. An unconsciousness. The dark telling her it was fine. It was fine. It was fine.
I am pretty, she thought with panic, I am pretty.
The downfall commenced through the mirror, callously peeling her beauty away. Her cheek bones no longer visible, hidden by the smiles that now drag down to the sides. Her lips were now of a deceased color, an ill-looking pink that resembled vomit. Her eyes were now a dull brown, transparent to the absence of sanity. The cuticles crisping and curling in pain by the burning fire of time.
The mirror lied to her.
She was not the ugly, disoriented figure. She was the beauty on the other side, the other time. She was the halo of nature’s making. Never this. Never this.
She looked into the horrid mirror again and a burst of anger confronted her. The mirror was lying to her. Deception from the Devil himself. She was not ugly. She was pretty! She was pretty!
Why, aren’t you a beauty?
The old, withering eyes…
My, my; you have a beautiful daughter.
The scraggly, sagging cheeks…
Don’t you have beautiful hair.
The wrinkled, vomiting lips…
What a beautiful child!
The burnt skin…The burnt skin…
I am pretty, she thought.
At that, the beautiful girl in the mirror laughed.

The old woman gritted her teeth with vivid anger and let sobs form in her throat, rants and built up pressure bounding forth.
“I am pretty,” she whispered.
She looked at the mirror, at the beautiful girl.
Such a mocking laugh…
“I am pretty!” she said louder.
The girl turned away.
“I am pretty! I am pretty! I am pretty!” she shrieked, “I am pretty! I am pretty! I am pretty!”
Then she heard something to her left and turned to face it.
There she was. The girl.
With her striking eyes and beautiful figure, she looked at the old woman with concern read by the wrinkles on her forehead.
“Are okay?” she asked.
The old hag gazed at the girl. “Am I pretty?”
The girl smiled her wonderful smile and said, “Yes, grandma; you are pretty.”
The old woman looked back at the gazing, blank, hideous reflection and rocked herself back and forth, consoling herself.
“I am pretty,” she said, “I am pretty.”