She squints her eyes to focus on the image before her.
Peering into the clouded mirror, she was disgusted with what she saw.
She frantically dug into the bag of makeup and paints and, layer by layer, tried desperately to cover all of her flaws.
She continued to work.
Frustrated, she threw down the brush and scrubbed vigorously to correct her own mistakes.
Her face red and her skin raw, she picked up the brush again.
She continued to pain herself.
Unsatisfied, desperate, and disgusted, she fell to her knees and sobbed.
A puddle of makeup began to gather at her knees, mixed with her salty tears.
Her body shook violently with sobs.
"Why can I not be beautiful enough?
Talented enough?" she asked herself.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, prompting her to rise from her knees.
She once again faced the mirror as a voice, still and small, whispered.
"You are fearfully and wonderfully made."
The clouded mirror began to clear.
She began to see herself as she really was.
A daughter of the King.