She looked in the mirror and ran her fingers against the threads covering her bones. The fabric hung against her shoulders, a curtain hiding her decaying frame. She smiled at the stranger looking back at her. But it was hollow and anyone who looked hard enough would see through her disguise. Her thin lips and glassy eyes barely holding back walls that were threatening to burst at any moment. But no one looked hard enough. No one asked. Because no one asked wanted to know. They pushed and pulled against the walls—she was useful, to be used until the levee broke and she was no more.

“Are you okay?” he asked, not out of duty or guilt. He had seen a glimpse below the meticulously painted on exterior, the one meant to disguise and distract and he had touched the cracks. A single finger pointing to her weakness, her burden—of being a human being who carried pain that she could not heal.