The dancing girl stopped mid-step, changing into a white long dress that perhaps fit her long ago; it felt a bit short now, somewhat ill-fitting.
She found a cookie tin from under the bed, inside which she had hidden a vacuum-sealed bag containing a wig she made from her own cut hair.
She put on the wig, lightly applied lipstick, and smiled at the reflection in the mirror.
She couldn't distinguish which was the real dominant personality.
She felt that the one wearing the dress, with long hair, and lipstick was her dominant personality, her true self.
Suddenly, the girl in the mirror laughed, her laughter dark and sinister, her eyes filled with violence and rebellion. She abruptly yanked off the wig, her voice hoarse, "Foolish, useless thing."
In the memory of this persona, she was touched by cold hands, her clothes about to be torn, but she swiftly kicked the individual in their most vulnerable spot.
