Pain in Beauty
“Such a nuisance!” Hawthorn barked, trying to drag the golden teeth of her hand-crafted hairbrush through her bramble of locks. She sighed and focused on her reflection, flicking her ears in slight annoyance, before sighing and rolling her eyes. “I wish I could be pretty and delicate like other women…” the little Doe muttered, memories of the women from Thornwall traipsing through her head. Her cheeks fell to her hands, elbows on her vanity as she sighed yet again softly, an ivory unicorn with an opaline horn trotting in an elegant, frilly and puffy gown, and a pink rabbit with a cascade of peachy blonde locks...a beautiful lupine with bright pink tresses wearing a dress that Cinderella would envy...so many beauties with such delicate natures. Not like her, a wild, shambling mess of short-tempered hodge-podge. She was a fiery little candle that had burned more than the tapers of the others. Her eyes glanced up at her reflection, finding a small comfort in the knowledge that such beauty wasn’t attained without pain - if her hairbrush was anything to go by. She sat up and resumed dragging her comb through her stubborn hair, every kink refusing to flatten. She’d brush over...and it would bounce back up. After a while of frustrated rolling of eyes and winces of pain, Hawthorn found that...she didn’t feel angry at it anymore. In fact, she came to appreciate the way the curls framed her face, how it sat in an odd mass, but felt suiting. She gently brushed her hair over one shoulder, finding herself a little more happy with what she saw in her reflection. She may not be ‘standard beauty’, not delicate nor ladylike in any sense of the terms, but in her own way...she was beautiful.
Art by Elf_EXAR
Art by Elf_EXAR
3 years ago
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