With no mirrors on Rieva, Nova never saw her own face clearly until she left. And when she did, it wasn’t the right face. It was close, but wrong. Always, the sight of her own face had jarred her with its almostness, its not-quiteness. It had never felt as real to her as the one she grew up looking at. Here was her real reflection. This was who she was: what she saw looking back at her when her sister looked at her, and it had been the same for Kora.
