Overestimated Perfection (I)

I couldn't stand what I saw, the perfect curls of red on the pale delicate face. Silk that so precisely shaped its owner. Her graceful movements disgusted me. She was exquisite, perfectly made by the doings of another. I couldn't stand it; the mirror was like a curse I wished to avoid looking at. I hated more than anything how I would fit the part so exactly. One more glance in the mirror, filled me with hate and despise for its reflection. The wonderful twist is that I'd asked for all this. I thought it would make me happy. Foolish was the inciting thought to have born this change of figure and features.  Still, I would continue as schedule dictated.
I opened the thin dressing room door to join the other girls clustered together in their slight last-minute primping, stray strands hairsprayed, lashes pressed with firm fingers and curled once again, lipstick layered on, necklines adjusted to perfect symmetry, perfume hanging over them in a cloud of alluring and thick scents. We all were clad in silk, cut in different shapes to adulate varied curves of skin, flesh. No girl had locks like mine, crimson stood out against black, brunette and blonde. No other had eyes like mine, legendary violet that stood out against porcelain skin. I was so heartbreakingly breathtaking. Thankfully the girls took in my beauty as business and I fit in by fastening a row of pearl buttons on a neighboring gown. My neck was misted by a solution meant to persuade a body to approach and eliminate space.
The thick red velvet curtain was thrown aside to reveal patrons of our purpose. They were draped across sleek ebony furniture, all clad in suits of different shades of profession and authority. One by one girls stalked across the room with steady eyes, abandoning my position close to the back, nearing to the inspection of expectant, deciding gazes. The last girl veiling my presence left to a man with jet black hair and a navy suit, a creme kerchief folded in his pocket. I raised my neck to face the remaining gazes untrapped by preoccupation--all captivated as I slightly lowered my eyelids and curved my lip in artful secrecy.
He was beautiful. Light plain blue eyes against tanned skin from outside work, framed by sandy brown curls that fell to his temple on one side, side burns were shades darker, trim just below his ear. The lines of his jaw defined perfection of masculinity, carved as if in reflection to Hercules. Soft pink lips were set above a pointed chin, shaped to fit over mine for this night. He was young, but he was not cocky with his stare, inviting me over with curiosity and assertive meekness.
Ethereal feet carried me over with slight quickness. He stood as I came, in acknowledgement of my submission to his request. I wondered at my reflection in light plain blue. We were taught to stay detached, but I always wondered. I always wondered.
He took my waist in one of his hands, not breaking the look into my eyes. "I'm Robert."

(beginning by: Sarah Jack)