She opens her eyes, opens them wide, and finds herself alone inside of a concrete cell. One side of the room is a mirror, and there’s a girl inside the looking glass.
She calls out to the girl, but her voice is a whisper and in her mouth there is the taste of stale blood. She knows, somehow, that they’ve taken some little unnameable piece of her. Dany’s fingers trace her neck, feeling stitches, in the place where a lymph node should be.
Dany takes a deep breath and stands on uncertain legs, but when she tries to cross over to the girl who lives in the glass, it’s like her spine has fossilized. Like time has gotten into her, somehow, and rusted all of her joints.
