Rouge

The answer is up there in the sky of water.

The true mystery is the ocean itself, isn’t it? The first mirror of the world. Reflecting back the heavens.

If you extract one memory, the bad one, the absolutely unnecessary Free Radical of the Mind, the Comedo of the Soul, the one that’s dulling and creasing and darkening your visage so hideously, it’s bound to affect the others, isn’t it?

Without the sun, what’s the moon? Just a rock in the outer dark. Its illumination just a trick. Just a trick from the sun’s light, which it steals. And that’s what Beauty is too.

She's not looking at the giant gilt-trimmed mirror Mother nailed to the wall, though it's right beside her. She's looking at me. An entity capable of reflecting back exactly what she desires to see.