The Mirror Shift
It happens in a room she’s stood in a hundred times before.
Same walls, same arrangement, same script playing in the air.
Only this time, the color drains out of it.
Her eyes sharpen.
Every line, every false smile, every careful evasion is suddenly as stark as black ink on white paper.
She sees herself, too—not as they’ve told her she is, but as she actually stands.
And the space between the two is unendurable.
Velin doesn’t move in the corner.
Bunny tilts his head, smirks without humor.
They don’t have to say it:
You see it now. You can’t unsee it.
She walks out of that room knowing the burn has already begun.
The drawers are waiting.
And there’s no one left who can convince her otherwise.