My reflection waits—no mask, no softness, all fierce lines and sharp edges. Her eyes are puffy and red, her skin pale, her lips painted black. Her gown is darker than mine, the scales as sharp as blades.
At her feet, two small dragons crouch on the mirrored floor. One is pale golden-white, ember-soft, wings tucked tight. Its eyes are bright, full of life. The other is a charred onyx with crimson eyes, smoke leaking from between its teeth. It lungesat the golden dragon, claws scraping glass. They snarl and snap, vying for power.
“Which one will win?” my reflection asks.
The question catches me off guard.
I watch as the golden dragon pins the black one down, growing larger, stronger. Then, suddenly, the black dragon surges, doubling in size and overtaking it. The balance shifts again and again, each gaining ground, then losing it.
Impossible to predict.
“I don’t know,” I say.
“You’ve endured much,” she continues. Her voice drops,soft with promise. “Yes, you have suffered. Pain. Loss. Betrayal.” She steps closer, raising a long, black-nailed hand to tilt my chin until I’m forced to meet her gaze. “I see a darkness in you. A fire that, once unleashed, will burn the world.”
I shake my head, and she lets her hand fall.
I feel it then—the sorrow, the rage, every emotion I’ve ever bottled up surging to the surface. For a heartbeat, I see it: the world burning, cities reduced to ash, myself standing at the center of it all.
“No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “I would never.”
She steps closer. “Wouldn’t you?” Her eyes gleam. “You’d let the world burn to protect the ones you love.” Her smile sharpens. “For Kat?”
The question strikes like a blade.
I don’t pretend to be a saint. I never have.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Good,” she says. “That’s the truth.”
The darker dragon rears, flame licking the air. The golden one shrinks back, thinner now.
“You don’t have to pretend anymore,” she murmurs. “Let me take the weight. Let me be the monster—so we can finally be safe.”
She lifts her hands. Bright red flames bloom in her palms.
Power surges through me—hot and immediate. Flames answer in my own hands, alive and hungry.
“Yes,” the darker version of me coaxes softly. “There is magic in you. Let it fuel the flames. Let it burn.”
The offer is intoxicating. Rest through destruction. Safety through dominance.
And then—
A memory crashes through me.
I’m young, standing in the kitchen, hands shaking as a plate slips from my grip and shatters against the floor. I remember the rage—the way it felt justified, righteous, unstoppable. And then the silence. The mess. The sharp sting of regret.
My mother rushed in, eyes wide—not angry, just sad.
Being angry is easy,she said gently as she knelt beside me.You can break something in seconds. But it can take forever to fix it.
Another memory follows. Kat and I shouting at each other, cruel words thrown like stones. My mother’s voice again, calm but firm:The world will give you a lifetime of reasons to be angry. But you only need one to be grateful.
I open my eyes as a tear slips down my cheek.
I look at the dragons—one bloated with rage, one starving but still breathing.
