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Melina stands in front of the mirror.
She knows the person staring back at her. Big doe eyes are fixated, the intensity in her gaze so stark it should break the glass in millions of pieces. She’s staring in the mirror, but the person looking back looks nothing like her.
The reflection doesn't have thin blond hair that breaks too easily, shedding long strands on every pillow and brushes. She doesn't have dark eyes, sunken into her face and weighted by almost violet eye bags. She doesn't have a lanky face, pale yellowish skin, frail limbs, chapped and cracked lips. Her chest doesn't heave in desperate attempts to breathe, constantly fighting against her own body to survive another hour, another minute more ; she doesn't stumble as she stands on her two legs, no wheelchair in sight, no cane to support her, no braces to constrict her ribcage, straightening her back in a painful posture.
The woman looking back at her is beautiful, as breathtaking as when she first saw her. Every minute detail of her face is stunning, so violently gorgeous Melina feels like she’s staring into the sun, a sight forbidden for those who aren’t designated.
It is Janice's body, Janice's face, and it's so painfully obvious that it is not her.
She wouldn't look like that, her red hair in disarray falling on her shoulders and in front of her face, the red lipstick overstepping her lip line because of Melina's botched attempt to mimic her usual style. She wouldn't gaze at herself the way she is right now, eyes red from crying, deep strokes of mascara running down her cheeks and pooling in the corners of her eyes. Janice wouldn’t be crying in front of her reflection. She would straighten up, smile, and go on her way. She would do what she thought was good, even at her own expense.
In the mirror, Janice reaches out in front of her, her expression broken as tears run down her face. It hurts to see Janice in such a state ; Melina wants to break out of her skin, wrap her arms around her, and bring her close, shield her from whatever had saddened her. She can't though, and Janice isn't crying, she is. Janice's reflection shows her move, her gaze still trained on her face, her hand coming up to her cheek. Melina closes her eyes just as the fingers touch her skin ; she feels them brush on her, the sensation so familiar, tender like a dream. She can feel Janice’s finger pads calloused by the strings of her harp, her nails dragging softly on her flesh but never biting into it, the nails trimmed clean and round, shining with life and health. Melina frowns, tries desperately to feel this touch as if coming from Janice, as if she's still in her body and receives the gesture instead of masquerading it. It doesn't work, moreover when the finger crosses the wet streaks the tears left on her cheek, the dampness on her fingers bringing her back to her body, Janice's body.
Melina tears her eyes from the mirror, takes one step back to break the vision. It’s still not enough, she can feel that everything’s wrong, out of shape, the world foreign at the tip of her fingers.
If she’d been in her own skin, she’d bring her hands to her face and let her nails scratch her skin, carve her despair on her flesh for the world to see.
She reaches out inside her mind, screams and begs and cries, but it stays silent, desperately so. Janice stays mute, locked away in a hidden part of her soul that Melina hasn’t found yet. She pried every wall, snooped on every corner, turned Janice’s mind upside down to no avail. Janice remains removed, untouchable ; so close, somewhere in this brain, yet so far away. It brings tears of rage to Melina’s eyes yet again, she feels like as soon as she’s alone, she can’t stop crying. She thinks back about all those years they spent apart, her sickness driving an abyss between her and everyone she deemed dear, how she held Janice at arms length despite her protests. She’d only contact her through letters, refusing to see her in person to hide the true decline of her health. She would never forgive the expression on Janice’s face when they saw each other after some years, when Melina’s attempts to keep her away weren’t enough anymore in the face of her imminent death. She had smiled at Melina, as if everything was normal, her soft look never soured even as she took in Melina’s bedridden appearance, a single tear escaping Jnaice’s eye when she gave her the necklace. Melina would never forgive herself, letting Janice be subjected to the horrible fate of the Detragon . Sweet Janice, loyal Janice.
She loved her since the very first time she saw her, the first time those brown eyes bore into her own, starstruck.
Melina wipes her cheeks with the back of her hand, trying to erase the evidence of her breakdown. She turns around and collapses on a chair near the desk, grabs a pencil and a sheet of paper. She has a mission to do, to stop this whole matter, to bring peace to her father and all the lives he endangers in his folie. To bring back Janice.
She can only hope.