The mirror lies in pieces, jagged shards scattered across the floor, each fragment catching the dim light and twisting it into something unrecognizable. In them, a face stares back—broken, distorted, fractured beyond repair. A woman’s eyes, once whole, now appear in separate slivers, each one reflecting a different truth. Some hold sorrow, others defiance, and in the smallest, nearly invisible piece, there is something else—something unreadable, something lost.
Her lips are divided between the shards, some frozen in silence, others twisted as if caught mid-whisper. The cracks carve through her features like delicate wounds, separating her from herself. She kneels among the glass, her fingers tracing the edges of her reflection, careful, hesitant. A drop of blood blooms on her skin where a shard bites too deep, and for a moment, the red stands in stark contrast to the silver.
Around her, the room is quiet. The world beyond the mirror remains unchanged, but she knows something is different now. Something has been severed, splintered beyond recognition. Is this her, or just a version of her the mirror chose to show?
The wind presses against the window, rattling it softly, but she does not move. She only watches the pieces of herself, knowing that even if she gathers them, even if she tries to fit them back together, the cracks will always remain.
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