I stare into the mirror, and the mirror stares into me. Pools of silver like starlight, wide as the sea and deeper than the depths, bore into me through the glass. I lean in until my breath fogs the reflection and my forehead is touching the spectre's. Silence rings in my ears.

"I know you're there," I whisper, and my palm flattens against the cold glass, against the mirror image of my calloused hand. "I know you aren't me. You move when I move, touch what I touch, frown when I frown, but you aren't me."

The only voice bouncing around the stone is mine, never the mirror's. Its mouth moves in perfect sync, lips dry and chapped just like mine. Its white shirt hangs unbuttoned over sickly skin shrunk close to its ribs. Its eyes are hollow and dark, if not for the blinding, crushing, polished silver within the deep sockets. Someone laughs, and the mirror's smile curves until my face aches.

My fingers tremble at the bones as I press them into the glass. Someday, I'll fall through, and the creature within will swallow me whole. But not today. Not ever. I'll kill the wretched thing first, and then I'll be able to stand my craft again.

"I know you aren't me," I tell it again, dipping my chin toward my chest just to see if it follows, and it does. Through thick lashes, the silver peers at me. "You'll never be me. My eyes, you see..." I laugh this time, a dark thing that shudders through me. "My eyes are not made of silver."

But they will be, something whispers, and it slithers around me. Winding, winding, winding until my lungs are burning. Someday, it will all be silver, and you will no longer be able to distinguish yourself from your precious metals.

✶