7
GRAYSON
In my dreams, I wait in the main hallway of the Bartlebee. For a moment, it’s like I’ve never left. The place looks like it fell out of a fairy tale. The wooden floors gleam. Lacy patterns cover the wallpaper. Summer warmth seeps into my skin. Everything looks the same as before, save for one thing.
There isn’t a single mirror.
Before me, the passageway stretches out in that eerie and plastic way that only truly awful dreams can manage. The movement is fast, unnerving, and impossible.
Pop! Pop! Pop!
Mirrors materialize everywhere. My waking self wants to run away, but my sleeping consciousness keeps marching forward. A single face appears in all the mirrors. It’s Madame Morningstar—one my instructor-spirits from the Prism Master.
“What did I teach you?” As always, a two-fo
