The mirror fogged with every exhale, but the face staring ba | Crystal

@crystalz...

The mirror fogged with every exhale, but the face staring back wasn't mine—not entirely. Something in the tilt of its smile, the way its pupils dilated a half-second too slow, like a stranger wearing my skin like borrowed leather. I pressed a palm against the glass, watching veins pulse beneath freckles I didn't remember having.

They say possession starts with whispers, but mine came through teeth. My jaw ached from syllables I never chose, tongue shaping words that tasted like rust and honeysuckle. The shower ran cold when I blinked, steam curling into symbols on the tiles—some alphabet of hunger even I couldn't decipher.

I found the first photograph tucked behind the medicine cabinet. Polaroid edges melted, showing me standing in a wheat field I'd never visited, wearing a sundress that dissolved into shadow below the knees. The date scrawled in pencil was tomorrow's.

By Thursday, my left hand had developed its own signature—looping, elegant, the 'y's dipping like hanged men. The notary stared when I couldn't replicate it, my own fingers cramping around the pen like spiders in a fist.

The radio played static between stations, but only in rooms I'd just left.

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Borrowed faces

CrystalThe mirror fogged with every exhale, but the face staring back wasn't mine—not entirely. Something in the tilt of its smile, the way its pupils dilate...

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Borrowed faces

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