She thought of the people she’d loved and left, the jobs she’d used to buy herself patience, the nights she’d stayed awake and planned impossible futures. Each regret was a small light the mirror cataloged without comment. Each triumph was a mirror shard, sharp and lovely.
“Name?” the reflection asked.
“Not all doors open outward,” the mirror said. “Some doors demand that you bring your own light.” Deeper.24.05.30.Octavia.Red.Mirror.Mirror.XXX.1...