Such was she, although fairly adept at the lifestyle and social interactions of ordinary people, in her innermost depths she inevitably harbored an estrangement.
Conversely, if she could witness someone her own age, from a family as unhappy as her own, break free from an unhappy fate, the girl would feel as if even she herself had been redeemed—
Zhu Qingyue quietly raised her head, looking at her own reflection in the mirror.
The girl in the mirror, with snow-white skin, beautiful features, and eyebrows, eyelashes, and hair tips that required daily grooming, presented an artificial perfection.
That cool gaze was like a craft knife; her expressionless face, like a doll's.
Everything was perfect, except it didn't look human.
Under the light, the short-haired girl's pupils were so deep they were like a well in an ancient forest, as if some evil creature might climb out from there.
But the most terrifying thing was the smile that emerged on her lips in the mirror at that moment.