through every mirror unveiled and every reflection lying awake—she, who beheld herself a million more, started seeing a different figure. in her irises lies the diverse, a defaced envision of a youthful her. a girl whose pupils embodied those of the astral bodies—luminant and full of luster; thus, creates lambency in every brilliant glister. whilst she, who saw through that apace glimpse, continued to reminisce until she sees it once more, the demoiselle dressed with iridescence. a flimsy miss whose gander was full of innocence. a scion whose poise embodied those of deep water—lulled and laconic unless a blitz vehemently anchors. and she, who stood still before that very mirror, saw the very essence of whom she had reared—her young self.
her young self who has no dilemma to face. one with no principles to evade nor chains holding her still. that innocent damsel has nothing but scars and grazes who came from playing outside her fortress. she, who was young and free, was so unlike the woman in reality whose manacles locked her in. that young one strayed far from the woman whose abrasions and swollen hues came from the constant abuses whom she grimaced after being somebody's consort. through the mirror, she can see how it was so twisted, so diverse. their worlds are so close, yet, so reversed. that's why, through all the saints awake, through all unknown entities watching her anguish, she started asking what have become the young girl whom for once did nothing but just dreamed?
