becoming.
She stared at herself in the mirror, waxen and white, a corpse-bride if ever there was one; her lips a chewed-on pink and her eyes, in this light, anyway -
Grey, she thought. Grey like fog, grey like rain clouds. Her eyes, almost the same colour as the dark smudges underneath them. She pulled her hair back from her face and wondered what she had become. She shivered and looked away, recalling all the nights she'd spent crying herself to sleep.
That's it, she decided. It's done. There's nothing left for me there, and it's done.
She had only half-convinced herself.
