She remembered noticing the lights first, how intense and flawless they made everyone look. The women were like porcelain dolls with unnaturally long eyelashes and unusually tiny waists. She had wondered how many were sucking their stomachs in. Lord knew she was.

The men looked almost identical, each with their own slight difference. They all looked too lean, they all walked too proud, they all smiled as though this was the most fun they’d had in a long time.

Her chiffon gown, designed and fashioned by Giorgio Armani, had flashed and glistened under those lights. Completing the ensemble, small teardrops of gold lay imbedded into her French styled up-do. A diamond broach from Valentino, a gift of chandelier earrings curtsey of Ferre dripping with crystals, and a wrist of invaluable platinum from the sale-rooms of Tacchini and Coveri had accomplished her look of media royalty. She had been tickled to wear such lavish accessories, excited beyond belief when those designers chose her to house their up-and-coming collections. Although, sitting modestly on the base of her ring finger lay a small, discrete gold band. That was all she had really wanted to wear that evening. That was all she really cared about.

“You look gorgeous,” He whispered by her side, his Prada covered arm intertwined with hers. “But smile before they take a bad picture of you.”

So she had smiled even though her stomach cramped painfully, even though her stomach lay empty since breakfast the day before. She smiled through the throbbing of her toes, through the tightness of the designer corset wound around her waist, through the goose bumps playing up on her back from the cold. She smiled until the apples of her cheeks started to tremble, until the muscles in her face finally gave. Even then, she maintain a close-lipped grin.

She had made sure to look around at everyone else, to spy on those couples just getting out of their Limousines and stretch Hummers. Seconds ago, a blond, with a head of shining curls and incredibly bright eyes had walked in front of her. With a body that looked to be sculpted out of pure porcelain and a face void of any blemish, the woman had been the walking epitome of beauty.

How God awful she looks! She had thought bitterly, How disgustingly fake!

Anger and Jealousy had ravaged her face, leaving her with a horrid scowl and a mind brimming with unhealthy pride. Her eyes had started to squint close, fangs had seemed to grow, claws had appeared to extend. No longer was beauty something that intrigued her. Since the years plastered in magazine covers and the overhanging fear of rejection, she had turned face against natural beautiful. Really, was their such a thing anymore? Natural, genuine, innocent beauty?

She looks awful! She had screamed in disgust.

Her once gorgeous smile had diminished. In it’s place, a envious, spiteful glare. Her head had twisted to the side to get a better look at the blond. Desperately, she tried to pick something up from the woman that would make her anything less than perfect. A simple stray hair, a fallen eyelash, an imperfection, anything.

My legs are longer! She screamed to herself. My nose is cuter! My waist is smaller!

“Marie, “He suddenly whispered into her ear. She had been startled to hear that name, no one ever used that name, “Smile. This is an exciting time.”

It’s all terribly exciting, she though sarcastically, everything’s all terribly exciting. Yet, she had felt none of that dazzle, none of that awe as her diamond-studded heels from Balestra pressed into the lush fabric of the infamous Red Carpet. The blond woman had disappeared from radar and, likewise, the resentment and rage. Marie had felt nauseous from the emotional outburst, as though she would faint. But that would rip her expensive Armani dress and oh, she couldn’t let that happen.

“Hide your hand.” He had whispered to her seconds later. “Don’t let them know you’re engaged. “They’ll think you’re old.”

So she hid her right hand, hide the only thing that she actually felt proud of.

“Angelina! Over here!”

She had turned and waved, still smiling like a child’s doll at the cameramen, at the millions of fans that sat at home that Sunday night. Here, a fake kiss into the crowd as her legs wobbled from exhaustion. There, a slight forced giggle as her stomach continued to cramp. She added in a small glimmer of her eyes to pretend she was enjoying all of this fame and glory.

She kept this up for another half hour, staying glued to her date’s arm. He was the only reason she stayed sane, the only reason the tears stayed at bay. Later she would cry outwardly, but no one knew it was because of all this pain. They would think she was happy for a colleague’s claim at an Oscar.

She would know otherwise.

The Academy Awards, she thought to herself, whadda bitch.

The man at her side pulled her forward at a rough trot; pure torture in the high heels strapped to her lithe feet. A few times she had stumbled. Luckily, he had been there to catch her before the cameramen realized it. Again and again she thanked him, again and again he rushed her along.

Inside. She couldn’t believe how gorgeous it looked inside. The lights, the sounds, the audience cheering around her as she waked down a smaller, well-lit isle to her seat. She remembered her fiancé’s hands around her waist as he gently guided her into the crimson chairs. He kept one of her manicured hands in his as they waited for everyone to situate and the lights to dim. She couldn’t help but melt at his touch.

Such coarse hands, she thought, yet look how gentle they treat me.

Suddenly, his hand released hers. She felt her fingers open into the cool air of the auditorium and touch down on the arm rest separating them. All around her, the uproar of applause and cheers thundered against the magnificently domed walls. Her fiancé was clapping in rhythm, nudging her lightly to follow suite. Of course, she complied. She raised both her hands in unison, grit her teeth as a zipper snagged her lower back, and started to clap along with the lot of them.

Another man, famous, with the last name to match the diamond studs in her earrings, stood up on stage, proud and tall, a priceless tux fitted to his lean body. She paid no attention to his mocking as he continued to entertain the audience. She had heard her name a few times but paid him no heed. Even when her date leaned in close to kiss her hand, a smile vivid on his American face, she kept her glassy eyes trained to her lap.

“And the best Actor In A Leading Role goes to--”

Crystal’s voice boomed over the heads of the theatre hall, fighting against the chaotic chant of praise and ovation dripping from the audience. She had simply stayed in her seat, her hands crossed daintily in her lap. Twice, she had reached over for her fiancé’s hand to hold. Twice, he had pulled away to clap.

He’s too into everything, she thought to herself, he’s too worried about his appearance.

She would be his date when he wanted her to be. Now, she needed to be his doll, his accessory. What better way to please the masses then to have one of Mulan’s top models hanging on your arm?

Was that all she was to him? A thing?

“And the best Actor In A Supporting Role goes to--”

That’s when it started happening. The cramp in her stomach had started as just a small twinge, a light throb. The heat, the exhaustion, and lack of food had started to turn it into something worse. The pain stayed down around her stomach, only surging up when a particularly loud applause rang in her ears. Was she really going to get sick at the Oscars?! Her? The top model in Japan, the top model in Mulan and Paris? She, who had practiced walking the runway time and time again, who was forced to slip into outfit after outfit for hours on end? Was she, the girl who voluntarily starved herself before a photo shoot, who spent thousands on cosmetics, who was forced by the man she loved not to even think about wanting children because she needed to keep her youthful figure? Was, she going to get sick at the Oscars?!

Oh, this was ironic…

“Brad…” She spoke softly as she outstretched her hand into his. She wanted him to tell her it would be ok, that these “moods” she got into were just a fad. She wasn’t just hid “doll”, his centerpiece to show the rest of the world; She was something to him…she was half of his soul!

“Brad, I--”

“Wait until afterwards.” He had replied, not even looking in her direction. “Tell me afterwards.”

The nausea hit her like a brick, causing her to tilt forward. Her eyes had widened, a few flakes of shimmer dust fluttered down from around her lashes.

I can’t throw up anything! She screamed at herself as she clutched her stomach, I haven’t eaten anything!

“The best Actress…”

She had gotten out of her seat as the announcement rang over the speakers, her hand clutched to her emaciated waist. Brad had turned towards her, surprise plastered on his face as his doll stood and took a step into the isle.

“…In A…”

He had reached out for her hand, had grabbed hold of her wrist. She flicked her arm sideways, fowling his clutch. As her heel hit the isle, she managed to push him back into his seat.

“…Leading Role…”

It was dark; if it weren’t for the diamonds Armani had sewn into her dress, she would have been invisible. Although, as she made her way up the center, she knew no eyes were on her.

I’m sorry, she thought to herself, I feel sick, Brad, I’m sorry.

She must have looked extremely odd, rushing past in such an expensive dress. She had looked like a twenty-first century Cinderella.

“…goes to…”

A few more steps.

“…Aut--”

The double doors slammed behind her, echoing a loud bang off of the empty lobby walls. Her glossy eyes scanned the room quickly before she had moved. A guard turned her way, the receptionist called to her.

She ignored both.

There, to her left, situated between two baggage carts, was the Ladies Room.

Cinderella sat on the marble bathroom floor, her Armani gown curled up under two long legs, her white silk gloves ripped off and thrown to the side. A piece of hair fell into her face as she lurched over the toilet, two fingers stuffed down her throat. Mascara stained tears feel from her eyes, staining the clear water in the bowl. Her stomach twitched violently; the sound of gags had filled the grand, empty bathroom.

She had been right, there was nothing to throw up.

You look repulsive. She thought, Brad will be mad.

Her mascara had smudged.

Her foundation had run.

You’re Sickening. People are going to look down on you…on him!

There’s a rip in her dress.

You’re Filthy. Why did you even come?!

Her hair was in disarray.

She stopped suddenly, her glassy eyes finally clearing. There it was, that small shred of sanity she had desperately tried to find. It was there, that scarlet hue at the tip of a cluster of faux curls. She pressed one hand up against the cold mirror, one twirled itself around the strand of hair. Her hair had been twisted up into itself on the advice of her hair stylist, Charlotte, hiding the richly colored red tips of her natural hair at bay.

Her stylist had said the color was ugly…

In that very moment, twenty years of memories flooded back at once. Where there was a depressing recollection, a cheerful one took it’s place. Where there was a stressful memory, a calm one balanced it out. A reminiscence of death was erased by one of birth. Heartache was filled with Love. Lose with one of discovery. Defeat with that of triumph. So much filled her mind that she was left silent, her face blank, unable to choose which emotions to play out. Yet, some hole deep within her had been filled.

“Natural beauty...” She had said to herself in the mirror. “I‘ve always been clothed in silk yet the wool has still been able to cover my eyes. ”

“Angelina…”

The soft, deep voice flooded to Marie’s ears, breaking her free from the trance. Focusing on her fiancé’s shadow through the window, Marie had forced herself to make eye contact. He stood there, hands deep in his pockets, slightly hunched up against the wall. He peered at her through a veil of thick black hair. He didn’t seem to mind that he was inside a woman’s bathroom, much less that his soon-to-be-wife stood in offensive disarray mere feet from him.

“You’ve missed everything.” He replied quietly, “Why were you in here for such a long time?”

“Brad. I’m sorry. I felt horrible, ”

“You look horrible.”

The remark was a death blow. She could feel her insides tightening up again, the nausea flooding back up her stomach, up her throat.

You can’t say that to a me! She screamed inside, chocking back sobs, You can’t say that to a model!

She focused on herself again in the glass. Hair stood out around her face, the jewels woven into her fake curls had come undone, stray strands licked her face, her make-up was a mess…

She looked as though she had been crying uncontrollably. When had she cried?

“If you want to, we can go home.” He said softly into one ear. She hadn’t realized he had gotten so close. Sighing, she felt his warm arms encircle her, felt him press up against her shivering back.

“What about the after party?” She said, her words shaking. She felt so weak, so dependant. “Don’t you need to be there? To promote your business?”

“No…”

“…let’s just go home.”

“But, Brad, I--”

He kissed her neck so gently she swore she would faint. Her knees had buckled at the smell of him, of such a strong man so gently holding her the way he was.

“I just want to go home.” He repeated.

“Ok.”

She gave in, just like that. Hook, Line, and Sinker. He had picked her silk gloves up from the floor; had put them on her with such ease before taking hold of her hand and leading her out of the bathroom. Deafening voices, car horns, and engines had been heard outside the main lobby. People had started to file out of the auditorium… people were already leaving.

Brad kept her moving, helping her weave in and out of the hoard of people littering the foyer. He had blocked her from paparazzi, had kept her eager fans at bay, even kept other stars away from his “doll” as they wound towards the line of glass doors. She heard him curse; it had started raining outside. With his hand around her back, Brad had quickly taken off his coat and placed it over her head.

“Angelina!” The voice was familiar. “Wait up! It’s Charlotte!”

“Keep moving.” Brad had ordered, his voice had been unusually forceful.

She had tried to arch her head to see Charlotte, her stylist.

Peering both silver eyes out from under the black coat, she had been able to see Charlotte run behind them.

“Brad!” Marie started, the fear and surprise bubbling up through her veins. “Brad, wait! Give me a second!”

He had ignored her plea to slow. Instead, he pushed her forward more forcefully, past a couple getting their picture taken, past a group of blood thirsty reporters. Once again, Marie tripped over her strappy heels, only to be caught in Brad’s arms and propelled onward.

“Angelina! I have someone to show you! Angie! Wait!”

The calls were getting fainter, the room had started to spin. Her eyes had turned into silver glass, her mind had started to freeze over. Marie had felt her muscles start to atrophy, had felt her lips turn cold and pale.

“ANGELINA!”

“Keep moving!”

“ANGELINA!?”

“Go out that way!”

“Marie?”

The voice had been so faint, so small, like a cool breeze on a sweltering day. Everything had stopped, time had taken a break. Marie had slowly looked past the haze, past the throng of people, past the monotonous white gowns and black suits, the blond pencil-straight hair and tuxedo ties. There she stood, like a speck of gold in a pile of rocks. She focused on her and suddenly the tears wouldn’t stop…her glass eyes wouldn’t stop crying. She knew where she had seen such an intense ruby colored hair, she recognized those sapphire eyes. Those eyes…

She must have looked confused; Marie must have appeared lost. Her face had been tear stained, with long streaks of in wet charcoal dripping down her porcelain cheeks. Her mouth was open slightly. Was she saying something? She didn’t remember.

Charlotte suddenly appeared, out of breath, next to the woman with such fiery red hair, such gorgeous green eyes. Marie had tried to slow Brad down, but he rushed out into the rain, her on his arm. She couldn’t help but look behind her, like a lost, innocent child reluctantly fleeing it’s mother.

It was like a dream after that, a sweet, swift dream. She remembered noticing the lights first, how intense and flawless they made everyone look through the glass.

The women were like porcelain dolls, She had said to herself, with unnaturally long eyelashes and unusually tiny waists.

But there was one, one single doll out of the thousands crouched inside the main foyer that stood out through the rain and fog. This doll was gorgeous, with hair the color of blood and eyes the color of leaves. The only thing wrong, the only thing that Marie had thought odd as she disappeared into the rain, was that doll’s expression. Marie had never seen such a sorrowful, heartbroken expression, had never witnessed such a look of isolation, of yearning, of grief. She would never forget it, never let it leave her mind. She would always remember that small, gorgeous red haired doll with the emerald green eyes and that horribly sorrowful expression on it’s face. It had been so beautiful.