daughterofMyou

Mirror, mirror, on the wall; who's the fairest one of all? What times are these; what has become of us when, for hours, we preen and style and perfect? Is there no more value in charm and wit, or in the good, old-fashioned intellect? Like birds of paradise, we flaunt ourselves. We warp and stain our skin and burn our hair; superficial creatures we have become. Is there no true beauty left anywhere? Shattered mirror, on the floor; quoth the raven; nevermore.