And she was sad, that's the second.
That morning she had looked into the speckled mirror. She had taken her eyeliner and -hypnotised- drawn a curved line beneath each eye. She had smudged them until they blended with the real shadows under her eyes, the soft ones. Until she looked as tired and as unwell as she felt. After that, she had smiled.
Later, she walked to the bus-stop. The air was cold, it slipped past her many layers, seeped into her chest. The wind streamed through her ribs, tore inside of her. She felt like she had no body. She felt insubstantial. She decided it was better than the other feelings.
After the novelty had worn off, she would tire of it. She always does.