Burned

The mirror showed a reflection that wasn’t my own. I was neither surprised nor impressed by the vision. Wasn’t it, after all, what I had requested? A respite, for lack of a better term, to ease the burden a little?

I cast my eyes over the ornate gold fixture just slightly below my peripheral vision. Now was not the time to be squeamish, I told myself. That would be silly.

I raised my gaze to the mirror frame where gold leaves curled – high enough to see the silhouette floating above.

My breath caught, and, at once, I was awash with regret. What had I done?

Was I wrong to have gone to the crossroads? I sighed deeply and met the eyes in the mirror - cold, indifferent eyes. If one looked close enough, would they see, as I did, what was eclipsed beneath the picture-perfect surface? Or was it that I knew what lingered there?

Hard to say. Only belief in the demon would spare me the terror.

I turned this way and that, a brief examination of the face that would greet the world as it had done for years. It was the face the public expected to see. The one fans would be relieved to see after word of the house fire went viral.

It was the face of triumph - of enduring appeal.

It was what lurked inside that was foul. With that thought, I turned away, my gorge rising.

There was a deal made. I would see what the world would continue to see only this one time. Once I looked away, the illusion would evaporate as surely as ocean mist under a tireless sun. A revisit would reveal only the tortured wreckage of my true visage.

A tear fell from my lower lid. I could feel its uneven path over the maimed and melted tissue to my jawline.

From here on in, it was a matter of faith. I had to believe that with each public appearance, the face of Mina St. George would present as it always had. I would endure terror that what I saw and knew as the truth would one day reveal itself.

I looked in the mirror as another tear fell.

The full lips and smooth olive skin from moments before were gone. The perfect bone structure and teeth were still there and protruding from beneath the ravaged tissue that failed to cover. The face was monstrous, and I looked away.

I reached for a tissue, and the mangled claw of my right hand hovered over the tissue box. I wore gloves when I went out. The demon had insisted the hands weren’t part of the deal. I snatched a tissue and dabbed at the ruined cheek.

Only time would tell what the cameras would show. Would they reveal the truth – that Mina St. George was in fact, rendered more obscene and horrifying than mere words could describe?

The face in the mirror was an abomination.

A horror far worse than what existed after the fire.

More wretched than what existed when the bandages came off.

The deal with the devil tore away any semblance of healing. What showed after the demon made her fix was the personification of the vanity and shallowness that skulked beneath the flesh.

The unholy visage peered back, and the terrifying lipless grin had a demonic if somewhat comical expression.

Another tear fell.

A marauding fly landed on my forehead, making a dainty foray through the corrupted remains. Perhaps it was attracted to the scent of putrefaction. Another thing the demon said would cost extra. No amount of toilet water would remove the stench that followed me through my days.

However, such was the splendour of what they saw no one would question. Seeing was believing, after all.

A knock sounded on the trailer door. “Only two minutes to set, Miss St. George.”

I dropped my cloak and left the trailer. Walking through a sea of smiling faces, I headed, head down, for stage nine. My gaze locked on the coloured lines that led from one studio to the next.

“Today, we’re welcoming the star of The Image to our show. Please give a warm welcome to the incomparable Mina St. George.”

A final shaky breath and I stepped onto the stage amidst the roar of applause.

Faces from the studio audience smiled the identical bloodless grins that greeted me in the mirror and haunted my nights - another gift from the demon. I would never see their admiration again.

Only the applause suggested the demon’s work was adequate. Many stood, the applause growing louder.

Had I known the horror of never truly being seen again...

Then I looked into the face of hell and bowed my head.