She sits in front of her dressing mirror and works feverishly on her face. Her appearance has changed a little. Last week had been a mass of black hair with curly bangs. Today, her hair is red and the lipstick on the table says she intends to paint the day bloody. She transforms at will, but one thing never changes; her grey eyes. They're my favourite part of her body. They have a way of drawing you in. She drops the lipstick and flashes a smile at me, proof she's satisfied with her looks. She'll leave in a few minutes and I'll do what I do best, watch and wait. I've been watching and waiting since she brought me to live with her. It's a habit turned into skill, and now, it's become an art. My main focus is her king-sized bed. I never liked it at first but now I don't mind. It's become the center of everything that happens in this house. Another thing I used to do is wonder who she'll come home with. There used to be just one visitor - a tall redhead. I never learned her name. She calls her "My Brat." Now, there are many. Maybe I can wonder one more time, if she'll return with more than one. She did once and I had to watch four women cut themselves up and do crazy things with candles. I see all. I know all. I can't do anything though. I'm only a piece of glass that reflects images.
My entry for Foxtales' one paragraph fiction contest. See original post here @vermillionfox/week-16-fox-tales-a-theme-fit-for-international-women-s-day-winners-and-a-chance-to-win-extra-steem