Maxine Weber sat down in front of her vanity and looked into the mirror, gazing up at the photograph carefully taped into the top corner. The girl in the portrait smiled down at her, the woman’s double in almost every way. There was no change of expression from Maxine. She simply continued to stare at the picture with weary eyes and gave an airy sigh. “One day at a time, Mags.”
Her gaze fell away from the portrait as she turned and looked at herself in the mirror. A lithe woman in a simple blue dress stared back at her, and Maxine couldn’t help but see a disappointed look in those green eyes.
“I did what I had to do,” she said firmly. She kept looking into the mirror, almost glaring now, “There is no other option.”
She pulled out the pistol and set it down at the base of the mirror, not letting go. Her eyes remained fixed on those of her reflection. “Not yet.”
The hand and gun trembled for a moment, before her grip slowly loosened. She closed her eyes.
Finally, practiced hands reached down and opened the vanity’s drawers, then began to clean off her makeup. Contact lenses were removed and glasses donned to replace them. She began to hum as the dress came off and the short blond hair was tousled.
The sound briefly faltered as the prostheses and the bra holding them was removed and put away, then the corset. A soft hiss of discomfort as tape was gingerly pulled off.
The humming ceased, slow footsteps sounded across the floor, headed towards the bathroom.
Maxwell Weaver opened his eyes to see his reflection staring back at him: stern, judging… tired. He ran the sink faucet, washed his face and looked himself in the eyes again. A deeper sigh rumbled up from his chest.
“Please, God, let it be done soon.”
So this is something I wrote a while back after listening to a song about a lady who crossdresses and kills people. I've been meaning to start writing stuff more, so hopefully once I get into it I'll post it here.