When I was young, I would look in the mirror and see all my insecurities. I would stand there and try on 50 different outfits and drench my face in makeup.

“What do you see?” That’s what my grandma would ask me when I looked into the mirror. I would recite the phrase that had been coded into my brain after so much repetition, “I see a pretty girl.”

My grandmother would nod her head, but then continue with saying all the things that were wrong about me.

- - - -

Now, nearly fifteen years later, I strolled through a forest and happened upon a mirror. But when I walked passed it, I saw no reflection in it.

What the hell? I thought as I neared the looking glass.

Very gradually, a reflection came into view. But it was not my reflection!

Looking back at me, was a demon. My hands were normal, along with my hair, and all the rest of me.

But suddenly my hands turned red, as if my stretch marks and veins had spread across my entire body. Horns grew out of my head, and my eyes sunk into my face.

Now, one might think that I would be in complete panic mode, and, truth be told, that is what I thought at first. But then I smiled.

And I laughed.

I didn’t care anymore, and it was glorious to not care.

I was a demon. I was hideous, and nobody expected me to be more than that.

Now if I was asked what I see in the mirror, I wouldn’t say a pretty girl, I would say a happy girl.