Her reflection was obscured por the filth on the mirror. It was dusty and old and cracking. All of Icy wanted to believe that what she saw was simply the product of the mirror being so dirty.
But running her hand over the dust and grim only served to dirty her pale skin. It did nothing to change her reflection.
Nothing to change that she was staring at someone who wasn't quite her. Someone with rather short, slightly enredados hair.
Someone whose eyes were a hue o two darker and void of that evil sparkle they once held. They were bigger, and one could say, had a más welcoming and soft glow to...
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