Funhouse Mirrors

She walked in with a crowd, but the masses thinned as they raced past the mazes and dark corners. Standing at the glass, she viewed herself in all her varieties. Stretched tall and narrow, like taffy on the pull. Squat like a pumpkin with eyes. Wiggly, resembling a vertical ocean wave, or cavatappi pasta. Taking moments longer, distracted by none. Staring past the visual, she saw more. She saw deeper. Past the skin and shape and hair and colors. She saw the willpower and fragility and potential and appetite. Slowly turning, carefully twisting, to inspect and respect the images she saw past the image. She saw through. And became.