18
GRAYSON
Lady R is here.
There’s no mistaking her identity, although there are some differences. Just as the Prism Master looks younger, Lady R seems less glamorous. Her dark hair hangs in a neat line to her shoulders. In other words, she’s not yet a Rapunzel.
I lift my chin. This is just a mirror. Lady R can’t hurt me here.
It’s a good internal pep talk, but it simply doesn’t work. Although this version of Lady R doesn’t speak, I keep hearing her words in my mind anyway.
Ugly.
Lazy.
Useless.
I press more deeply against Dex’s side. I always picture Lady R as a Rapunzel in her fancy Manhattan tower. Now, she’s some kind of attendant to the osmos?
My life is based on a foundation of facts. With every passing second, more of that structure crumbles away. My pulse speeds.
This can
