Her eyes focused on the mirror. 

Auburn strands hung down around her neck, her dark eyes swollen and tear-stained. The dark bruise adorning her cheek was obvious, as was the bloody-line torn through the bruised skin. It would leave a scar, she noted absently. She wondered if anyone would be able to tell where it came from. Everyone around her would have been able to guess. Not that it would mean anything after today.

No, what mattered was the blood splattered across every visible piece of skin and blending into the dark maroon dress settled over her thin frame. As aware as she was that the best thing to do was to wash it off before it dried, she could only stare. The world seemed to be moving at a snail's pace, the pounding of her heart roaring in her ears as well as the echos of now silent screaming. 

She swallowed, her mouth dry.

Her eyes shut for a moment, the bloody scene flashing through her mind. She clenched her fists at her sides, digging the nails into the skin. Even that couldn't break her from the numb feeling spreading through her body. There was no guilt, no regret, nothing. Only the awareness that there was no going back from this. 

She unclenched her fists, slowly opening her eyes to stare at her reflection once again. Then mechanically dropped her hands to the surface of her vanity, plucking the scissors from the surface and gripping one long, auburn strand with trembling fingers. 

Snip.

Her eyes flickered away from her reflection to where the small lock of hair had dropped to the floor. The thought that she would have to sweep up the hair and dispose of it elsewhere if she didn't want them to immediately know that she'd cut it crossed her mind and she took a step back to ensure that all of the hair would fall to the floor. Then, her hands slightly more steady than before, she cut through another piece. 

Snip.

Snip. Snip. Snip. 

Her hand began to shake again as the figure before the mirror changed. She couldn't stop, though. There was no going back. 

She'd change or she'd die. Those were the only options. 

When she'd finished, she stared at the person facing her for a moment. Would it be enough? Her mother was obvious. Being a beautiful, thin, and sickly woman, she stood out like a sore thumb. That meant she would have to change, to cover for the woman.

Shouts came from the hall and the scissors slipped form her hands, clattering against the floor.

It would have to be enough- there was no time. If they were leaving, it had to be now. 

After all, there was no redemption for a murderer.

Not here.