Curls that coiled like copper wire hung from Mia’s head as she watched them chase the wind while dancing around her dressing room. The paint was barely gripping onto the walls, as its deep maroon color was now more of a deep pink. Mia placed her hand, white as porcelain, against the wall and her nails made a tick; a strong tick that caused her eyes to widen and skin to rise. Mia ticked again… and then again… and then until Mia was ticking to a beat; a strong beat, a beat that her head loved and her head followed. Her curls were dancing to the beat of the ticks, until her hands were embracing the wall. Mia was lost in her syncopation and singing to the beat “comin’ on along, comin’ on along, comin’ on along with meeeee!”

The dressing room door swung open in what Mia thought was a furious rage.

“MIA! WHAT IN GOD’S NAME YA DOIN’?!”, an older, brawnier man yelled. Mia took her hands quickly off of the wall and her mouth reached for the floor. She attempted to mutter some small excuse, but nothing dared to venture from her mouth.

“We ah new in this bizness. You behave now. You want to people to liiike yuh’,” the man whispered towards her. He walked over to Mia and placed his bear paws on her shoulders and imprinted a kiss on her forehead.
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” Mia muffled as she pushed her lively, glamorous hair behind her and sat I front of the mirror.
Mia’s father gave her a concerning glance as he exited and slowly shut the dense, wooden door. Mia anticipated its closing and turned to face herself in the mirror.

The mirror was framed by slightly chipped wood painted a soft, gold color. Mia’s eyes were crystalized and stained blue and slightly filling up with water as she continued to landscape her eyelids and eyelashes. She wiggled her nose slightly to rid it of the stinging from holding back tears. She turned and placed her warm, over-energized face into her palms.

She sat up and breathed into her aggravation. She glided over to her wardrobe and stared blankly at the two chiffon dresses that were dangling on the rack. She stroked them and slowly swayed them in the same rhythm she had going before. The pink, baby-doll dress crept into Mia’s right hand and she grabbed it off the hanger.
Mia draped the dress over her head and ran her hands down the front of it, feeling the material and shape. She began to breath heavier, and softer, and slower and she envisioned the dress becoming part of her.
A man slapped the dressing room door and yapped “Ten minutes, Mia!”

Her intricate breathing stopped as her eyes widened and grew to be half the size of her face. From across the room, she looked at the mirror as if she was waiting for it to sprout legs and run over to give her a hug. Breaking the stagnant silence in the dressing room, Mia’s father walked in to guide her to backstage.

“You’re gonna kill ‘em, kid. You’re gonna kill ‘em I said,” Mia’s father rambled off as he passed the stagehands and curtains with Mia in his arms.

“Remember why you do this,” her father said as Mia stepped through the portal that seemed to be between the stage and herself.

The stage lights crawled up her back and illuminated her hair, making her an intimidating figure. She slowly turned towards the microphone and let the light consume her.