her tongue ran across the ridges of her teeth. the seventh from the left was the one she hated most. standing proudly on its own, a jarring anomaly amidst the curved line of yellowing white. it leaned forward as if to whisper; she liked to think it had a life of its own. years of binding by metal and wire couldn’t force it back in line – she was almost thankful for the overbite that concealed its rebellion.

she worked her way down, eyes examining the flawed reflection that stood before her. critiquing what she had whilst longing for what she didn’t. bigger breasts, flatter stomach, thighs that stood resolute with every step. calves that didn’t resemble hills and eyelids that weren’t folded like origami.

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