[Novel is undergoing editing]
Verena narrowed her eyes at the illusion-Evelyn, whose sorrowful expression belonged in a tragic romance cover.
"Look," she said, crossing her arms. "You're not real. You're just the Maze with mascara."
"But I represent what you fear," illusion-Evelyn replied, wind still dramatically fluttering her hair as if they were in a wind tunnel of emotion. "Your inability to connect. To trust. To be—vulnerable."
Verena deadpanned. "I've trusted people before. It didn't go well. I got stabbed. Emotionally. And once literally."
Illusion-Evelyn reached out again with a glowing hand, like she was offering both love and a discount therapy session. "Verena, you push everyone away. Even when they're right in front of you."
"I don't push people away," Verena snapped, then paused. "I just… gently redirect them. To the far side of the room. With a few snarky remarks. And sometimes a metaphorical dagger."
