She was hired to polish the mirrors
that measured the universe’s edge.
No one told her they reflected more than light.

Each morning, her reflection aged differently:
younger, wiser, crueler, freer.
She began to speak to them,
trading stories across realities.

One version had wings.
Another still believed in love.
One whispered, “Stop searching outward.”

So she shattered the final mirror:
not in rage, but recognition.
The shards became stars,
and from their scatter,
a single voice remained:

“I am all the women
who survived myself.”

​