I grab a piece of the mirror and press on it. Blood pours out of my fingers, and with it, the ink rushes out of my bloodstream and dissipates from around me. I let the glass fall to the sink and exhale harshly. Streaks of red line the white porcelain and drops of blood follow in quick succession. I let my life essence pour out of me as I look at my reflection—hair glued to my temples and my eyes glassy. Dead. It’s done. I’m calm. I’m back to being in control.
