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she stares at me with her violet eyes through the mirror, lips upturned into a smile that doesn't quite feel right and turns mine into a frown. stars align her silky hair and the radiance of her skin blinds me.

❝you are not me; i am not you.❞

when she reaches out to touch the glass with the tip of the sharp nail of her index finger, the surface of it gleams and coaxes me, spreads and reaches me.

❝but you are not me; i am not you.❞

her voice, soft and enticing unlike her sharp features, beckons me forward and i all but freeze in my seat. her lavender scent fogs the room and blurs my senses, fills my ears until i can't hear the beat of my own heart. it's not long before i cover my eyes to escape the sting of her fragrance, but it's a little too late.

frigid. unright. cutting.

her name is pride and in the blinding beauty of the chaos, her faint voice echoes;

❝you are me; i am you.❞

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