| sting eucliffe

"Go wash your face! And buy some concealer if you're going to show up looking like . . . that!"

I stare blankly as my aunt stomps out of my office, slamming the door (as much as it can be slammed). It happens everyday I come to the office; one of my extended "family" members waltz in, find fault in something, anything, about me, get mad, storm out, and voila! They have something to complain about during the next family reunion, something I haven't attended since Weisslogia's death. From what I know, it's a gossip column now.

I start signing the long, long stack of papers. "Why did I accept this?" I groan. My hands are still sore from yesterday - and the day before that. Most of these papers seem useless: collaboration offers, bills, building permits, fund transfers - my uncle probably went to jail, again.

It takes three hours to go through half the stack and by then I feel ready to drop; a sign that today won't be different from every other day. I get out of my chair, stretch, and decide to go to the bathroom to check out the mess my aunt was screaming about.

The workers turn their head the other way, pretend they're talking to someone on the phone, and even run to avoid any form of contact with me. Typical. They're lucky I'm not the one that hires people. But so am I. Imagine the work.

When I open the door and make eye-contact with my reflection, it disappears. It's replaced with that of a familiar silver-haired, brown eyed woman.

I blink once. Twice. Thrice. The mirror still shows her this time, clutching a knapsack, walking in a dense forest. She has a few bruises on her knee and elbow, but her gaze is forward. She's not in any fancy attire, as she usually is, but a tight white and blue dress that barely reaches her knee.

Idly, I wonder what she could be doing amidst the thick of the woods - and she's in one where I don't see any edible food or water, either - in the . . . evening? I scrutinize the scene, seeing traces of the sun slowly disappearing. She never seemed very experienced, so I worry about what could happen lest she run into trouble.

But it's not my business. I don't even know if she exists or which twisted soul is giving me this scene. Maybe it's mine, giving me something interesting to bother about after an eternity.

She hikes and hikes and hikes, but then I notice a thick stick in her path that she does not.

And she trips, mouthing an "eep!".

She cringes, but gets up, dusts herself, and continues trekking. When I look at her upper leg - which is uncovered, and I don't know why she's going through a forest with minimal protection - there's another bruise there. And blood is seeping out from a small cut. I wince, thinking about how the cut could get infected and her smooth, pretty, soft-looking skin scarred -

The scene starts to disappear. The last thing I spot is her coming to a clearing.

And then my reflection appears, in all its dead-looking glory.