The theatre is gone. Burned to bone.
But Ember walks the city now.
And with every step, she leaves soot on the concrete.
Pavement splits behind her.
Mirrors crack without warning.
People turn to stare, but never meet her eyes.
Because those who look directly at her see something they can't name:
A wound wearing skin.
A fire shaped like a girl.
A memory they tried to forget.
And she remembers them all.
She finds him first.
The man who gave her old self medication instead of mercy. Who told him it was "just confusion" and "a phase."
Who said healing meant pretending harder.
He's older now. Wrinkled. Comfortable.
She walks into his clinic without knocking. The receptionist blinks. Tries to speak. Her mouth bleeds instead.
The doctor looks up.
"Can I help you?"
Ember steps forward.
Her wings unfold behind her — jagged, dripping soot.
"No," she says.
"But I can help you remember."
She touches his temple.
And he screams.
Inside his mind, she shows him everything:
The mask.
The fire.
The razor in the dressing room sink.
The words he made her swallow.
When he begs, she offers kindness.
Violent kindness.
The axe falls softly — not on his flesh, but on his memory.
When he wakes, he doesn't know who he is.
Only that he once hurt something holy.
She doesn't forget her, either.
The girl from school. The one who filmed the slur. Who laughed when he wore lipstick. Who made "Ember" a joke long before it was a name.
She's an influencer now. Neon hair. Ring light halo.
A perfect smile sharpened by time.
Ember finds her in a bathroom stall, crying on the phone.
"Why does it feel like I'm being watched?"
Ember steps out of the mirror.
"Because some ghosts are patient."
The girl screams.
Ember silences her with a kiss to the forehead.
"I don't want you dead," Ember whispers.
"I want you changed."
She breathes fire into her memory.
When the girl wakes, she sees the world on fire.
Every hallway filled with ash.
Every friend's smile hiding teeth.
Every mirror reflecting the worst thing she ever said.
And now she feels it.
Forever.
They follow her now.
Others like her.
Fragments.
A boy with no tongue and a ribcage full of wings.
A girl made entirely of melted theatre masks.
A child with knives where tears should be.
They call her Mother.
They call her Ash.
They call her God.
And she walks — barefoot through the city — leading a parade of pain given shape.
Storefronts crumble.
Streetlamps burst.
Statues weep.
And no one stops her.
Because she is truth walking.
And truth, when set free, is always violent.
But something still follows her.
A man made of mirrors.
He wears her old name. Her old voice.
He moves like memory. Like shame that refuses to die.
"You can't keep doing this," he says.
"Why not?" she answers.
"Because they'll never accept you."
She smiles sadly.
"I'm not asking."
He attacks.
Glass blades. Shards of every old performance.
But Ember doesn't bleed.
She burns.
She wraps her wings around him and whispers:
"You were never me.
You were the cage they gave me.
And I've outgrown you."
She kisses his cheek.
And the Mirror Man shatters.
Her body is breaking down.
The fire inside is too much.
Skin blisters. Eyes glow. Wings snap and rebuild.
She stumbles through a park — past children who don't scream.
They just feel her.
Like a song their parents warned them about.
She drops to her knees beneath a dead tree.
"I didn't want to be a god," she says
.
"I just wanted to stop dying."
Ash rains from the sky.
The earth opens.
She finds herself back in the theatre — or what's left of it.
It's just the stage now. Floating in black.
No audience.
Just a mirror.
Just a mask.
Just her.
She walks to center.
The mask is cracked. The mirror shows nothing.
She kneels.
Whispers:
"Let this be the final performance."
She sets the axe beside her.
And for the first time — she prays.
Not to gods.
But to herself.
To the girl who bled.
To the boy who begged.
To the ghost who watched.
Morning comes.
The city is quiet.
No flames. No screams.
Only a statue in the center of the square.
A girl made of ash and wings.
Eyes closed. Hands outstretched.
Some say it was art.
Some say it was justice.
Some say she never existed.
But everyone remembers her name.
Ember.