Juniper leaned over the vast expanse of water, staring straight down at her own reflection. Her small round face stared back at her, and she giggled. The little pompom on top of her toque shook, and she straightened up to look back at her mother, standing several feet behind her.
Juniper looked back at the water, finding herself again, and made a face. Her face made a face back at her, and she laughed; her face laughed with her. Or was it laughing at her?
In a sudden fit of rage at this imbecilic little toad, mocking and deriding her, Juniper jumped at the water, destroying the meanie in a splash of wetness. Jumping again, she made a bigger spray, and a third time brought the biggest.
Jumping out of the water on the other side, Juniper carried on, the villain vanquished, never to return from her reflective prison.