Inara stood in front of her elegantly framed full-length mirror, examining her completely bare body in the reflection. She observed her curves, the way the light danced on her tanned skin, the way shadows were cast at whimsical angles on her flesh. She took in the way that her hips were in disposition to her delineated body, the way her breasts curved delicately above her ribcage, the way her shoulders were held high and proud with perfect posture.

She was always being told that she was beautiful, and she always felt beautiful, but she would have given anything to have seen herself from a different perspective. She wondered whether she saw herself the same way that others saw her. She wondered whether she saw herself the way that her clients saw her like this, or the way that Simon saw her when she had to disrobe in order for him to examine her for one reason or another.

No. Her clients looked at her with an almost sacred admiration whilst Simon looked at her with a completely stoic and clinical gaze. Two opposite ends of the spectrum, those perspectives were.

But how did she look at herself?

Inara sighed lightly as if her expression of resigned sentiment would help her to gain perspective. She focused her gaze on her reflection in the glass once more, trying to see something she hadn't already seen, but her reflection didn’t change.

She met her own eyes in the mirror. There was some sadness in them, some hurt. To the untrained eye it wouldn’t have been evident, but Inara knew herself, she knew what she was feeling, knew why her heart was beating with such a heavy rhythm. She knew herself, but she didn’t know how she saw or perceived herself.

At that moment, Inara didn't feel beautiful. She didn't feel like there was any inner beauty or outer beauty. She wasn’t beautiful enough. Her charm and allure hadn’t been enough to tempt Mal. Instead he'd gone and done the lovers’ dance with Nandi and it left Inara feeling inadequate.

She suddenly didn't like the curve of her jaw, the stre