ELEGY Poem: The Silent Music Box of Sophie Scholl, by Jacklyn York

I studied her smile, how the corners of her mouth stretched wide.
I once admired it, called it infectious—before the scales fell from my eyes. Now, I can’t unsee
the leviathan behind the mimic.
She tells a good story; I’ll give her that.
Every part of me wants to believe her eyes aren’t constantly inventorying, her ears relentlessly
monitoring. She studied me long before I was aware. I shared my values, my desires—and she
built my trust. It should be a crime.

Each word, disguised as inspiration, was a strategic seed planted in my fertile mind, discouraging
me from questioning her hollow rhetoric.
My affections turned to contempt. While I invested in connection, she collected data.
I’ve been her involuntary marionette.

I was blinded by her flattery. It chased my mother’s cold criticisms away. Suddenly, I wasn’t 8
years old in front of a full-length mirror; I was deserving of a stage, a gem buried beneath layers
of neglect. Waiting for someone to see the potential missed by those who claimed to love me.
With her, I wasn’t invisible. I was someone worth seeing. Her impromptu invitations came at the
perfect moment. Rare for me to feel welcomed instead of tolerated. She shared fears and dreams
and made me believe she was invested in mine.

What caused her to target my naive senses? Our motivations couldn’t be more distant—like the
corners of her sinister smile, painted over a parasitic soul.
My new knowledge forces me to recycle each conversation, to analyze the subtleties I missed:
the timely gaze after a compliment, the probing questions disguised as interest.

Her friendship entered my life on a Trojan Horse.
As I toss her betrayals around, twisting the knife deeper into my heart, my motivations evolve:
Authenticity bartered for strategy. Trust through the lens of gain. Surrender overpowered by
greed.

I have the capacity to meet her in her deception. My eyes can hold secrets, too. Her surprise will
prove she underestimated my genuine heart. A lesson I’m willing to teach. She’ll regret
provoking my attention.

But—
I consider: will engaging her in her arena consume me? At what cost will I master the faux
smile?
I pity her. Character will always be foreign to her ambitions. It must be exhausting fooling
unsuspecting allies along her path to nowhere.
Beating her at her own game may offer temporary pleasure, but it’s a dangerous game.

She must have realized the value of my innocence, or she wouldn’t have tried to ravage it.
No. I’ll alchemize this contempt I interpreted as engagement.
Perhaps arrows of dishonesty are dulled by sincerity. Maybe outstretched smiles disguise even
the owner disarmed by integrity. The illusion of power is limited to the fool willing to trade
integrity for malevolence. Her competencies aren’t proof of strength. They’re evidence of a void.

As our eyes met in this moment of silent understanding, her confident, pierced lips melted into
uncertainty. The once pointed corners dragged her cheeks into a frown. An empty frown.
My stunted gaze alchemized into windows of my uncalloused heart. In this moment, my
substance was shaken but not broken, and her pathetic agenda diminished to a whisper.
The only thing more powerful than evil is the intentionality to do good in an evil world.