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I'm squating in a tiny room lined with wall-length mirrors. I appear like that of a porcelein doll: my perfect, white face expressionless, my black eye shadow-covered eyes staring blankly into the mirror in front of me, my ruby-colored lips standing out against my pale, made-up face, and the same color as my brightly-painted fingernails. My outfit consists of mix-matched knee-highs, black converse, black bracelettes, bows tied around my neck and legs, a blue and black shirt, black head band, two deep crimson flowers fastened by my ear, and my hair put up in flowy, brown pigtails. The music starts; I open my eyes and slowly, like a phantom, stand up.
The mirror behind me falls, opening a long hallway lined with wall-length mirrors. I turn and start down the hallway, looking, both ways, at my appearance through the mirrors.

"You're so pretty the way you are. You're so pretty the way you are." I start pulling the ribbons off and throw them on the ground as I walk, "And you had no reason to be so insolent to me. You're so pretty the way you are." I reach up and tear the top layer of make-up off to reveal my living, pink, broken-out face.

"La, la, you got to say it if you want to, But you won't change me." I pull off the top layer of skin from my arms-- which removes the nail polish.
"La, la, you got to say it if you want to, But you won't change me." I continue removing make-up and jewelry as I walk. A look of disgust starts to show on my face.

I rub my arms as if I'm clensing them, "You're so pretty the way you are. You're so pretty the way you are." Removes hair ties, letting down my long, cascade of brown hair, "And you had no reason to be so insolent to me. You're so pretty the way you are."
Shoes come off.

"La, la, you got to say it if you want to, But you won't change me." Socks come off.
"La, la, you got to say it if you want to, But you won't change me." A bigger look of disgust comes upon my face. The hallway doesn't appear to be coming to an end, but I continue on down, like a ghost, hoping for it all to end. Once I've removed everything I could, I appeared less perfect, like a porcelein doll, and more like a broken-down, saddened child with no direction in life.
The hallway finally stops-- at a dead-end.

Pretty by The Cranberries