The mirror had become Elena’s only confidant, though it was a cruel one. At nineteen, she moved through the world like a ghost, a collection of sharp angles and translucent skin. She lived by the cold arithmetic of calories, finding a hollow sense of power in every skipped meal. But the power was an illusion; in reality, she was freezing even in the summer, her hair was thinning, and her thoughts were a gray fog of obsession.
