Irlenne dreams in colors that don't exist.
Burning ivory. Violet that hums. Black so deep it tastes like ash.
She's not in a bed. Not in the cottage they've rented two towns away. Not even in her body, it seems.
She's standing before a mirror again.
But this time—it's not her reflection that greets her.
It's Mara.
---
Mara looks younger than Irlenne remembers. Softer. Freckled. Her eyes are the same impossible hazel—green caught in amber—but they don't gleam with malice. They gleam with… recognition.
And sadness.
> "You left," Mara says.
Irlenne doesn't step closer. "You burned everything."
> "Because I didn't know how to be anything else."
---
They stand there in a silence so sharp it might bleed.
The mirror between them is soft as water. Irlenne doesn't dare touch it. Not yet.
> "You killed us," Irlenne whispers.
> "No," Mara says. "I split us. You survived. I… fractured."
Irlenne's mouth tastes like copper. "Then why am I dreaming of you?"
Mara's eyes darken.
> "Because I never left. Because the mirror remembers what the world forgets."
---
Behind Mara, Irlenne sees shadows.
Dozens.
Flickers of girls. All her. All not her.
Some with Mara's laughter. Some with Irlenne's walk. One with Lucien's eyes. Another crying blood into a sink shaped like a chalice.
> "How many are there?" Irlenne asks.
> "Too many," Mara answers. "And not enough."
> "Of what?"
> "Pieces of what we could've been."
---
Irlenne steps forward.
The mirror doesn't resist.
It ripples—cool as moonlight.
Her fingertips brush Mara's.
Neither of them winces.
Neither of them breathes.
> "I hated you," Irlenne whispers.
> "I know."
> "I loved you, too."
> "That was always the problem."
---
The mirror pulses.
Mara flickers—face distorting into one of the other girls, then back.
> "You were supposed to forget me," she says. "You were supposed to be free."
Irlenne shakes her head. "You don't get to decide that anymore."
> "I didn't decide. The mirror did."
> "Then I'll break it again."
---
Mara's voice lowers. "You already did. But it's still alive. In the pieces of us."
> "Where?"
> "Everywhere."
---
Irlenne sees it now. Feels it.
In the waking world, something is stirring.
One of the Mara-fragments has slipped free.
And it's looking for her.
---
> "So what do we do?" Irlenne asks.
Mara looks away.
> "Some of us want to come home."
> "There is no home."
> "Then give us one."
---
The mirror glows gold.
The light doesn't burn.
It warms.
Irlenne knows this isn't real—not exactly—but it is true.
> "I can't carry all of you," she says.
Mara smiles, faintly.
> "You already do."
---
The glass cracks.
Hairline fractures across the dream.
Not violent this time. Not shattering.
Just… change.
---
Irlenne opens her eyes in the cottage bed, drenched in sweat.
Lucien sleeps beside her, arm curled loosely around her waist. A protective shape.
The moon outside is full. The room is quiet.
But the mirror above the dresser is fogged.
And when she rises to wipe it clean—
The reflection smiles first.