Chapter 48 The Shadows That Wear My Face

• I wanted to scream, but the sound lodged in my throat.
• Every mirror pulsed like a heartbeat, the glass rippling as if it were alive. The shadow version of me—the one with blood-red eyes and sharpened fangs—circled me like a predator. The others stood close to their mirrors, waiting, watching.
• She mockingly said, "You assume you're strong because you survived." Yet, survival is desperation, hardly strength. You've been struggling, hanging on to a lifeline that you have zero control over, along with scraps of hope.