Arzen felt a numb stab
of pain as she opened her eyes, moaning quietly as it resonated from her chest
to her arm to her legs. It felt like the kind of pain a day after dancing, a
day after swimming or participating in strenuous activity – except for the
looming asthma attack she’d have.
The sight that greeted
her bewildered her. Managing to sit up, she saw mirrors all around her, her own
figure greeting her. Arzen knotted her brows, pushing the hair out of her eyes.
She was wearing the
same thing that she had worn on the bus, on the way north. Her green sweater
hid away the soft white graphic shirt underneath. Her Oxfords remained clean,
and so did the dark jeans. She looked perfectly okay – a little pale, a little shaken.
She remembered falling
asleep after the first rest station, curling and facing away from the rest of
them who were laughing and chatting. The coffee she had chugged hours before
had begun to chip away. Before she woke up, she was in the bus on the way to
their retreat. Now, she was in an unknown room full of mirrors.
She tried not to feel
afraid. It had already happened before, twice.
The first, she was in the Peace Garden and ended up in the middle of
Technika’s Crossroads. The second, she was in her room, and then pulled away
into nothing –
“Mathias?” she
whispered. He had to be there. He was always
there. “…Mathias?” No one replied. Stifling a small whimper, she tried calling
his name yet again, but no reply came. Lifting her head, she looked into the
mirror.
Her coffee-brown eyes widened
as she saw the male in his Technikan suit, the lines and such glowing a very
bright powder blue. Elated, she said his name again – Mathias – and looked
behind her eagerly…yet he wasn’t there.
Irritation seeping into
her, Arzen rubbed her eyes and stared at the mirror. He was there – still there
– still smiling. The ice-blue eyes found hers and she stared at him, upset and
angry, and he began to walk forward. His mouth opened and he said a name she
strained to hear.
“Painful, isn’t it?”