Standing in the mirror across from Hazel Mae Jayne was a tall, light skinned girl with dark gray eyes. Her black hair had been pulled back into an elegant bun, revealing that the bottom half of her hair was in fact dyed a gray in place of natural black. She’d done her makeup, but it didn’t take away from her natural beauty. She had dark eyebrows that framed her eye, which appeared bright regardless of their dark coloring. Her eyes were narrow, relatively thin, and lined with eyeliner. She had a thin nose, and sharp, full lips that had been painted a deep, dark red.

Hazel was thin, and stood tall with her shoulders back. She wore a black dress that had absolutely no back piece, which she’d paired with black heels and a golden clutch. She’d a art showcase that evening, in Lower Manhattan, and her parents were ecstatic.

Hazel was less than excited.

There was a knock on the bathroom door, and Hazel snapped out of her haze. “Hold on,” She said, turning towards the door and unlocking it. She opened the door and, standing on the other side, were her parents.

They couldn’t have looked more different.

Hazel’s mother was close to her in height, standing about five feet four inches, where Hazel was five feet two inches. Her mother had platinum blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Her skin was a darker hue than Hazel’s, even though Hazel was always out in the sun, and her mother was definitely bustier than Hazel.

Hazel’s father was six feet two inches, and had dark brown hair that was peppered with gray strands. His eyes were dark brown, and he was also a darker hue than Hazel. It was clear this family had adopted her, to everyone who looked from the outside in. But these two individuals were all Hazel had.

And she was all they had.

“Are you ready dear?” Her mother asked, reaching for her hand. “You look beautiful, like always!”

Her father nodded in approval. “I think you will do grand tonight. A few of the benefactors will be coming to see your work, my dear.”

Hazel nodded. “Thanks, dad. I appreciate it.” She didn’t. She didn’t appreciate it at all.

When Hazel was young, her parents signed her up for sculpting classes. She did well. Better than well, she was incredibly. When they signed her up for sketching classes, she excelled. Landscape painting, she was phenomenal. Live action capturing, she was incredible, and her parents applauded the work. But it wasn’t what Hazel wanted to do.

Hazel was a dancer. Since she was young, she’d danced, and she’d been incredible at it. In her spare time, she made her own routines, choreographed dances for local pop warner teams, and