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"Maybe it's better to move on."
The whisper was soft, almost fragile, yet it cut through Cheska like a blade. The figure in the glass shard— his figure —spoke those words, his voice an echo of someone she once held close. Nathaniel.
It was the latest she had seen of him.
A fleeting, ghostly fragment that barely clung to the edges of her fading memories.
As she stood there, staring into her own reflection, an unsettling realization gnawed at her.
Each day that passed since waking in this world, something felt off— like a song missing a note, a book with its pages subtly rearranged. The way she looked, the way she felt. Even her own reflection felt… different, incompatible, and disfigured.
Back when she had been comatose, she had dreamt of him.
