Emily assessed her image in the mirror as she tried to establish a relation with the woman in the frame before her. Her gaze sought an identification, something to use as a point of departure, something to carry her through the day.
Each morning Emily fixed her hair and she made herself prim. She preened until there was a bondage established with the presentation being constructed. The image attained became the facsimile she would carry forth and return to in moments of self reflection through the day. The composition created was always a fiction though, a false identification.
The image in the mirror was just a trace made in passing. Beyond the mirrored moment, beyond the configuration in the frame, came change. Over the course of the day, her hair would slowly fall out of place, and her make up would become disarrayed. Her sense of being, the image she carried forth, was always lost in her own becoming - always caught up in the movement of her own erasure.
Emily brought her face close to the mirror, and she stared into her own eyes. She saw the image of her face reflected in her pupils. She tried to peer deeper, but found that the closer she looked, the further she retreated.
Emily blinked, returned to the moment, and adjusted her collar. Everything was in place. She was ready to begin her day.
- The Fool