There was a glow over her cheeks, red blooming its way across the bridge of her nose to clash with the alabaster of her skin. Her normally monochromatic visage was changed, broken in places by embarrassment at the mistake. White hair, white skin, white dress. She was like a blank sheet of paper, an empty canvas, only painted on occasionally painted red in places by a rising of blood. Sometimes I forgot her blood would be as red as the rest of ours; she was still human, despite my illusions.
Just as the vase had shattered, broken into a million pieces and scattering to the furthest corners of the room, she shattered as well. Tears reddened her eyes, spilling over onto shaking hands. She was destroyed as surely as the vase was, and scattered pieces all over the hardwood floors.