Emily Young was a model. A face that could launch a thousand ships and a body that could wreck them. She was popular, beautiful and most of all, beloved.
Carrying herself with a certain resonant grace, that couldn't be taught. Couldn't be bought.
She rose to stardom during the Cosmetic Renaissance.
In the early 20th century, extensive plastic surgery would leave you looking like a latex puppet, but by the time Emily rose to power things had changed.
Leaving the scalpels behind for directed microincisions meant you could look like anything you wanted. And a lot of people wanted to look like her.
Things continued as normal for a while. Emily continued her ascent. Her face on every magazine, billboard and device.
Until one night, three figures approached Emily's house. Under cover of darkness. Two women and a man, their faces altered. Identical to hers.
A day later, the police called round. A neighbour had lodged a noise complaint. When they knocked on the door, a woman answered. Resembling the occupant, though not quite with her... grace.
Saying everything was fine.
It was twelve days later, when a figure emerged from the house, shivering and caked in blood. Three bodies were found inside. Due to their...
similarities, it took DNA testing to determine the survivor was the real Emily Young. She'd broken away from her captors, and managed to get hold of a gun.
The investigation from that point was short. The intruders were fanatics, obsessed with the young woman, obsessed with the idea of her.
The stories died quickly and Emily Young returned to her house. No one knows what had transpired over those twelve days, but a week later another noise disturbance was called in.
The police found Emily Young, in a state of... mental disquiet.
All the mirrors in the house had been smashed.