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The bathroom is steamed after Franz’s bath; the full-length mirror is fogged at the edges and water droplets cling to the blue tiled walls. Franz had pleaded with their parents to let them stay home tonight, but their mother had insisted on them coming along to some dreary gala. She had the absurd-- in Franz’s perspective--idea that they would find some friends and even a suitor at this drab event. They go to wrap the towel around their waist and as they stare into the reflection something doesn’t feel quite right, like looking into a dark hallway finding figures who aren’t there. Franz’s chest hangs heavy, pulling them down with its weight. The weight wasn’t always there; it grew along with them, gradually so as to not alarm its host. It was a foreign feeling as though they were a whale with newfound unwelcome passengers. The reflection does not seem encumbered by this weight, staring unblinking back at Franz.
Do you not feel it too?” Franz asks the reflection.
It does not answer.
The weight of their chest grows and Franz scrambles to put on a shirt in hopes of relieving the feeling. The reflection changes to match them. But there is this void, this gap in between where the linen shirt touches their collar bone and curves down to meet the widest part of their chest. The void is constantly there reminding Franz of its presence in the back of their mind as they watch the reflection get dressed. All the cloth sticks to their misted skin, molding to their lackluster curves, bunching around their hips, the gap closes but the void festers. Frantically, Franz tugs the clothing off, like hurriedly peeling an onion, desperate to get rid of the sensation. “What are you doing?!” the reflection cries out. “Cease this foolishness at once and put your clothes back on,” it barks harshly. Franz stops in the middle of stripping off their stockings, turning to look at the reflection. “What?” they seethe. “Put them back on,” the reflection gritted out through clenched teeth. “It feels wrong,” Franz mumbles under their breath. “You’re acting like a lunatic” Finally, Franz wriggles out of their linen shirt breathing a sigh of relief, the gap is gone now even if the heaviness returns. “Think of your parents, how unfortunate it is they have a child like you,” the reflection went on. “Here you are delaying your parents from attending their gala because you can’t stomach dressing up and playing your part for a few hours. They worry for you and after all the effort they put into raising you, you still act like a child; dragging your feet and whining whenever you have to do something you don’t like,” it reasoned. “Aren’t you supposed to be me, don’t you understand what I feel? Don’t you see how they look at me; hungry, like rabid dogs scrambling to sink their teeth into me?” Franz pleads. “Of course I'm not you, you silly child, and these delusions are exactly what make your parents worry so much. Just think of how better off you’d all be if you just played along. I'm here to model that for you, I’m what you're supposed to be.” Franz looks away from the reflection moving to pick up the towel that was thrown to the ground when the reflection got dressed.
“Just put the clothes on! Put it back on you stupid, stupid girl!” the reflection screeches at Franz. The high pitched noise makes her head spin, she flinches dropping the towel. Her vision blurs, overwhelmed with the void thrumming in the back of her head pulsating like the beating heart of a young rabbit running from rabid dogs. The reflection grabs clothes from the counter that Franz doesn’t remember putting down. The room is spinning around her but every time her eyes focus on something it is always the reflection. Franz doesn’t feel clean anymore, her skin suddenly oily, too tightly wrapped around her body; amplifying the swell of her bosom and curves of her hips. “Don’t you just look darling?” The reflection purrs. Franz turns her head slowly to the mirror, the tendons in her neck straining against the movement; as if she were lowering her hand upon a stovetop. The sight before her pleases the void, she can feel it smile sardonically in her head no doubt taking pleasure in her torture. There is pale makeup caked on her face blurring out her skin’s flaws, a rouge was talentlessly smeared across her cheeks and lips and she has on this horrid gown. The gown is a deep shade of green with golden frills and lace; it’s the kind of gown that a doll her grandmother gave her would wear. Despite the pit of disgust in her stomach Franz puts on a brave face and looks the reflection in its eyes. Wordlessly, she starts to tear into the dress slowly at first; starting at the itchy gold lace cuffs then moving down to the hem, digging her thumb into the seam between the dress and lace forcefully ripping the stitches out. Her fingers find the gaudy floral applique sewn onto the waist of her dress peeling it up with their nails; glittery sequins and beads pop off the gown clinking quietly when they meet the tiled floor. Somewhere in the back of her head--where the void also sits, quiet for once--she can hear the reflection screaming at her. Finally, she wiggles out of the dress for a moment, eyes scouring the tiled bathroom floor for her linen shirt. She grabs the new shirt she had set out and the old one she discarded before her bath, shrugging them both on and then the dress again. When she looks at the mirror again the reflection looks a little more like them.
“Are you alright Frida dear?” Her mother’s voice calls out to her, shaking just a little. “You’ve been in there for quite awhile, we’re already an hour late.” Franz makes one last act of defiance, their fingers grab the front of their dress bringing it up to their mouth, severing the gathering at the chest with their teeth, it falls back down laying flat. They snatch the long-forgotten towel off the floor, tossing it forcefully over the mirror and open the bathroom door.