She could not look away.
That was the nature of the mirror, she understood that now. It did not trap with force or magic or compulsion. It simply showed what was true, and truth, when it had been buried long enough, had a gravity of its own. It pulled. It held. It demanded to be witnessed by the one who had lived it and the one who had caused it in equal measure.
Elowen stood before the altar and watched herself in the mirror's shifting surface.
The reflection was not static. It moved like memory moves, not in sequence but in feeling, moment bleeding into moment without clean borders. She saw herself at nineteen, standing in the Luna Quarters for the first time, touching the walls with careful reverence while someone behind her explained the duties expected of her. She saw herself at tw
