She didn’t know when she had become this bitter and ugly woman, who stood there staring in the mirror. She bent and washed her face, splashed heavily cold water on her face and tried to make the blood run and bring some colour to her shrunken cheekbones.
She stood up, dried her skin with a hard towel, and rubbed her eyes a while, but nothing helped: she stared at her mother in the mirror, and she realized that everything had been in vain: her vicious rebelling and finally running away from home, years of silence, living in distance places, trying to escape from what now seemed evident.
All in vain. Her whole life had led her to the dead end she had tried to break away from, and though she knew that inside, she wasn’t her mother, she couldn’t be absolutely sure.
Life had an odd sense of humour, she realized, and she didn’t smile. All in vain, she murmured to herself, grabbed her lipstick, and started to fill her thin lips with Cherry Blossom, the same shade her mother had used years, years ago.