…dust from forgotten stars.
The girl in the mirror did not move.
Not with her.
Not like her.
She tilted her head in that impossible, Velis-like way—like a question bent into a shape that couldn't be asked without tearing something open. Then her smile widened, and the glass hissed.
Lines of light spidered across the cracks, pulsing, crawling, breathing.
The mirror began to melt—not drip, but unravel, turning into ribbons of memory that twisted through the air, whispering names Hira had never learned but somehow still felt. They curled around her, not touching skin but scraping soul—and she saw them all:
A Hira who had burned entire worlds with a word.
A Hira who had buried Velis beneath a tower made of her own regrets.
A Hira who had walked willingly into the Pattern's heart and became its God.
Each version stared back from the curling glass, screaming without mouths.
She clutched her head.
Too much.
Too much.
