As her eyes adjusted to the new light source, she realised that it was some sort of mirror – a reflection of her. It breathed when she did and turned its head in time with her, but this woman was wild and confident, clad in intricate dusky lace with beautiful tattoos of botanical plants up her arms. Rosemary stared at the woman in the mirror, who was both her and not her. The woman stared back, so strong and confident. Rosemary felt a deep tug, as if the woman she was staring at was the long-lost part of her she’d been searching for, imprisoned in the glass, or perhaps a future self, waiting
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