Amberine. Grown older. Or at least she hoped so.
She exhaled softly, stepping closer. The reflection seemed to ripple, as illusions set decades ago tried to replay old data. A flicker crossed the glass—like a cameo of her younger face, bright-eyed, cocky, brimming with naive bravado. She felt an odd pang at seeing that grin, full of misguided certainty. She was an unstoppable force then, or so she believed, full of big talk about rewriting illusions as a higher art form, or dethroning Draven's stoic mastery. It almost made her laugh bitterly.
"Gods, I thought I knew everything," she whispered, lips curving in a faint smile.
She lifted a hand to brush dust from the mirror's frame, noticing the scrawled names etched into the wooden edge—old classmates, maybe from a project a year ago. She found her own: "A. L. With Fire & Dreams." The lettering was cramped, the lines unsteady. Probably carved in the throes of mania after a late-night illusions session.
