She sighed, staring into the mirror. Such a familiar sight it was, something she'd grown to love. The glass had broken off in areas, leaving the metal to deteriorate and dull in splotches. The edges were blackened where the frame used to be, as though keeping the color as a memory.
She sighed again, sweeping the pale hair from her face to tie it in the back, weaving it into a braid with the utmost care as she stared into the reflected eyes. They were her own, the same minty green as always, but they looked a little different like this. They looked colder, more distant, growing farther away each time she twisted her hair a bit tighter, a bit more. She let her braid fall limp against her back, let her eyes wander over the worn reflective surface again, taking in each spider web crack, every chip in the glass.
Once more, she sighed. Finally, after ages of staring into her own eyes, she turned away, brushing her crisp white coat of the nonexistent dust and left the bright, clean room. The familiar scent of iron and decay hit her, followed by the mumbling and crying of her finished projects. Her eyes grew used to the dim lighting, letting her gaze traverse the stained cement room, irregular forms huddled in the corners of multiple cells, some throwing themselves wildly against the bars to scream at her. She kept her distance, avoiding the clawing hands and spit, the oozing pus and blood that marked every single one of her creations.
She returned to the clean metal table. To the large array of tools and weapons, to the chemicals and toxins. A man clad in a plain gray suit lay yet another person on the table, clicking locks and tightening straps as a the being behind him moves next to her, whispering and prodding at her. She let her thoughts and regrets slip away, then set upon the work it had asked of her once again.