Beauty Was Her Calling

She was always busy being a beauty, and paused only from her self-regarding, her purr and pouting, to turn to a mirror but if she had a slight pucker at the corner of her mouth she would dash the looking-glass down and frown. It was her work, her Calling. Every second her appearance must be perfectly recorded, painted by a perfect lighting. On the whole she was quite a doll and worth a long look. Of course a low self-worth was her secret it spoke of her reality, a reality she loathed. Yet she was plucky marionet, would dazzle and smile once more for a lens to adore, her ego once more fed a lightbulb she screwed down tight inside her pretty head.