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Celeste would not deny that she had somewhat of a fixation on vanity. She was quite aware.
It was one of her greatest pleasures, the feeling of gradually taking control of every aspect of her life and bending it to match the aesthetic she desired. There was an addictive nature to molding herself—her wardrobe, her name, even her personality—into exactly what she wanted to be, down to the smallest of details. But as her fortune grew over risky gambles, so too did her greed. Soon enough, she could not be satisfied so easily.
At first, the twin drill hair clip-ons had felt more than sufficient; the frilly dresses appeased her; the daily pill down her throat assured her that she had truly left behind the person she used to be. Celeste had grown to adore the sight of herself in the mirror, the soft curves of her doll-like face and her porcelain skin. The red contacts made her vampiric, hauntingly beautiful, otherworldly. She trained herself into a new voice and accent with stubborn determination, until it finally became second nature to slip into. She left behind no trace of her former self. And Celeste had only money and her vanity to thank for this. So, yes, of course she had a fixation. Her vain nature assured that everything faulty in her life would be corrected.
Or so she liked to think. She must have gotten too eager at some point along the way, she mused, because it seemed she hadn’t accounted for the fact that there was no amount of money in the world that could solve certain things. Not at her young age. Not at this point in time.
Because at night, Celeste stripped off each and every piece of her intricately made costume. She did off with the white lace bonnet, slipped down the lengthy skirt, peeled away the black stockings, and eventually, she was left with nothing but herself. The mirror that had been so kind to her told only the truth—the truth which it told, once deprived of her apparel, of the self she fought so hard to claim as her own…
Celeste resented that truth. She did not recognize that body, supposedly hers, in the mirrors reflection. She could hardly stand her face without makeup. Those dull brown eyes only served to disgust her.
She saw less of Celestia in this reflection, and more of the boy she had murdered in cold blood so long ago. The boy she had felt not a shred of remorse for in all this time, defying the words of those who had told her she would feel otherwise. The people who had stood in her way; those she would gladly spit into the faces of if she had the misfortune of seeing them now.
Oh, if they could see her now.
Well. Not at this particular moment, perhaps.
Celeste screwed her face in disgust at the image of her bare self. She vowed, then, to make the choice to wake up every day and destroy anything that remained of that boy, over and over, until one day, she could wake up and find that there was nothing left.
Until one day, she did not dress up as Celestia Ludenberg, but simply was Celestia Ludenberg.
She would make goddamn sure that day would come. Her vanity would never let her rest until it did.