In those nights of January, the cold air taints my cheeks. I am merely a marionette. I am to be tweaked at. I am given a specific identity, one that is not my own, and I am to follow through. Red strings constraining my arms and wrists, I stare into the mirror in silence. I meet eyes with a girl who appears to be identical to me, but is not me, as she was a human girl. I, a mere Marionette, am met with the girl in the mirror. Her crimson lips move slightly, yet there is no sound. I listen in, furrowing my brows as I attempt to make out whatever she mumbles. She calls a name that I cannot grasp, claiming that it was my name. Her breath is like paper; so delicate, yet so strong. My ruffled thoughts unravel before her. Delicately disheveled. I realize that it was I who was trapped in that mirror. My soul, and my identity were trapped in that mirror. Those have been the things I yearned for, what I longed for. I weakly extend my arm, this is what I have been waiting for, right? I've stood on this stage, pretending that I'm the cat who got the cream, finally my soul will be at peace. The one who held my soul captive, my puppeteer, retorts. The mirror smashes, the girl in the mirror is no more. My strings were yanked, pulling my body along. I tremble like that of a leaf, as she taunts me for believing that I could be at peace. My hands grow stiff, the fingers as brittle as twigs. My mouth cracks open, it is out of my control, my head falling back. I give in; succumbing myself to the despair as I am suffocated by the same pastel pink ribbons.
