The Mirror Chapter - She sings a sad song to herself
Bright daylight refracts dead folds on the glass window.
The light scattered on the floor constructs ambiguous asymptotic lines.
These, stretching all the way to the corner until they are truncated by the cold wall.
Along the rigid straight lines, the gaze spreads to the translucent glass table.
Her back was against the wall,
her hands wrapped around her tightly closed knees,
and she wrapped her arms around herself.
The glass table held the envelope, even though it was clean ......
but had a rotten smell that yellowed paper could not reach.
Her nails were sunken into her skin, so white they were bloodless.
The bills crawled out of the opening of the envelope in a hideous mess.
Wantonly, recklessly, almost wantonly, the stench of the bills, scattered all over the room.
She did not sob.
She didn't tremble.
She had nothing.
The wood panels made into the door had an elegant grain.
This elegance, which extended to the floor, became the charming pattern of marble tiles.
An elegance that stretched into a patch that trapped its prey.
She dwells alone.
She lives alone.
She alone, for a long time.
The cobweb.
She is not the owner of a spider's web.
She does not want to be the spider.
Nor did she want to be the prey.
The house is bright and neatly decorated.
The bright and dazzling sunlight outside the window.
None of them could stop the widowed atmosphere from breeding here.
She tried.
She hasn't given up.
She still has ambition for life.
She still has her.
Even though ......
she is not confused.
She knows she is overly paranoid.
She knows that hysteria is bad.
She left the shadowy corner, her hair, which seemed softer than her paranoia, scattered over her shoulders as her body rose and fell.
The glass on the table tried desperately to become transparent, but was always mocked by the water in it.
She knew the reason for this state of affairs.
She knew she was powerless over the past, powerless over the future.
She knew what she had left.
The water in the glass shifted to her stomach, the glass glistening proudly in the daylight.
She pinned her hair rope with her lips and tied her hands skillfully behind her head in a slightly thin braid.
The hair rope blends naturally into the hair.
She rejects inexplicable smiles.
She rejects kindness of unknown origin.
She loathed her former naivety.
The smell of nail polish was always too strong, and the moment she opened it, her brow furrowed.
What appeared on the nails was not a bright magnificence, but only a faint layer of crystals.
She prefers something practical to something flamboyant.
She had been played with by life.
She still clings to life.
She doesn't want her existence to become meaningless.
The modest bachelor pad was filled with her moving figure.
Between the whirling of her feet, the house was already tidied up.
All that remained was the envelope on the table, and ...... her grim face.
The sound of a crisp bell rang through.
A black hair that fell on the floor made her grim expression, become mild.
The bill with open teeth and claws, before it could struggle, was stuffed back inside the envelope.
The envelope turned into a paper airplane and fell into the drawer.
In there, there were many more of its kind.
The click-click-click sound of turning, locking the drawer, locking the feelings.
She hugged her and spun and danced and collapsed on the couch.
