My legs were folded beneath me on the cool stone floor, my heart beating a hesitant rhythm in my chest as I met my own gaze in the floor-to-ceiling mirror. The room around me was dim, the few rays of morning sunlight filtering through the ever-present hidden window exaggerating the sharp shadows on the uncanny reflection that greeted me. There, in the mirror, sat a figure both familiar and foreign. Eyes of the palest grey, hair like strands of woven ash. A body that held an eerie similarity to Kyda's, a blank slate designed with an unnatural precision that was both intriguing and disconcerting.
The room was untouched, pristine, exactly as I remembered leaving it on... when? How much time had passed? The dustless surfaces and neatly folded clothes at the foot of the bed indicated it couldn't have been too long. But how could that be? My reflection in the mirror suggested an entirely different narrative. The girl looking back at me from the mirror seemed older, her grey eyes more knowing, her body different yet hauntingly familiar.
The room, my recently secured sanctuary, was fitted out with the significant excess of amenities Kyda had seemed to deem absolutely necessary. Against the wall in front of me sat the only change to the room since my last departure, the full-length mirror clearly added to enable my extreme curiosity towards my new form. Another gift from Kyda, a calculation likely deemed a necessary tool for "self-discovery."
Yet, as I studied my freshly acquired physical form in the large mirror, my focus couldn't help but shift towards the simple hand mirror in my grasp - Kyda's other recent gift. A seemingly modest piece, its touch was soothingly cool, its surface flawlessly smooth. But this ordinary facade belied its extraordinary function.
The larger mirror's reflection, though initially jarring, was almost a soothing placebo. My new body was a change, a vast one indeed, yet it paled in comparison to the mesmerizing, and frankly unnerving spectacle that the hand mirror unveiled. Each glance into the handheld mirror tore open a reality far more unsettling than the mere physical transformation could ever be.
The mirror was enchanted, its sole purpose to facilitate my observation of my true self - my Spindra. The physical body that reflected back at me in the mirror was just a vessel, a conduit for the true form that resided within.
As I brought the mirror close, my breath hitched. My reflection shifted away from the mundane observation of light, unveiling the radiant entity that I truly was. A brilliant, living constellation of tendrils undulated within the confines of my physical form. Each filament pulsated with life, each movement a testament to the absolute control of my own being over this body. I watched, enthralled, as I danced, my movements fluid and unscripted. It was nothing like Kyda's static, mechanical display of Anima. I was alive, vibrant. An orchestra of lights and movement that was as chaotic as it was beautiful.
The act of seeing, truly seeing, was as uncanny as it was mesmerizing. I could see my own thoughts tangibly guide my actions, orchestrating each heartbeat, commanding every blink. Each flicker of a tendril, each pulse of my essence, initiated and responded to the thoughts cascading through my mind. Witnessing this dance, this cyclical sequence of thoughts provoking actions and actions shaping thoughts, was like staring into an abyss of self that was at once thrilling and terrifying. This wasn't just perception. It was a haunting orchestra of consciousness, a relentless spiral of causality that reverberated with the resonance of my being, a song of existence that made my head spin.
The realization was like a shockwave, a seismic shift that reverberated through every fiber of my being. This was me. Not the ashen-haired reflection in the mirror, not the vessel that was designed to house me, but this - this brilliant, pulsating entity. The true essence of my being.
Even amidst the disorientation of this epiphany, there was a quiet whisper of familiarity, an inexplicable sense of correctness that quivered at the core of my being. I had always felt a disconnect, a sense of estrangement from my own flesh. It was as if I was a passenger within my own body, a silent observer using the sensory tools provided by this organic machine. I had sought solace in my thoughts, concocting a multitude of realities that transcended the physical constraints I had been burdened with. Now, standing at the precipice of this truth, it dawned upon me that those instincts, those inklings were not misplaced. I had always been this vibrant, pulsating entity, this sentient Spindra. The body was just a vehicle, a medium, which facilitated interaction between my genuine self and the corporeal world. The unveiling of this reality wasn't a rude shock, but rather, the affirmation of a deeply-rooted instinct I hadn't even been aware I possessed.
Every nerve in my body was alive, ablaze with a searing intensity that was all at once overwhelming and invigorating. I felt a disconnection, as if I was a stranger navigating through an all-too-familiar landscape. This body was different. It was no longer the familiar shell I had once known, but something else entirely.
As the stark realization set in, I found myself lowering the hand mirror to my lap, my eyes drawn back to my corporeal reflection in the room's full-length mirror. How could I reconcile this peculiar duality? The interplay of two realities was dizzying: one in which I was a sculpted form of flesh and bone, and another where I existed as an incandescent being of pure anima.
"Okay, Claire," I murmured to my reflection, "breathe."
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Staring at the unfamiliar neutrality of my own expression in the reflection, I flexed my eyebrows and grimaced. I murmured to myself, my voice a soft echo in the stillness of the room, "Let's see a smile."
A moment of concentration, and my lips curved upward, forming a semblance of a smile. Yet it felt oddly manufactured, devoid of the warmth that usually accompanied it. I frowned, my gaze never leaving the mirror. The neutrality of my face was disconcerting, it felt as though a part of me had been lost.
But then, as I sat there, wrestling with this unsettling stillness, I saw it. It was faint, almost imperceptible – a mere flutter in the corner of my eyes, a tiny quirk at the edge of my lips. My reflection was beginning to display subtle hints of emotion, muted but undeniably present.
"Progress," I murmured, noting the soft light in my eyes. I stared, entranced as I realized the potential of this form, for whatever me that I made to seep into its confines and express itself outwardly. It was a start, a hope for merging myself with this physical form. And in this newfound harmony, I found comfort - a reassurance that this body, as strange as it was, could indeed be an extension of my being.
The physical body I inhabited felt foreign, yet intriguingly accurate in its responses. I flexed my fingers, marveling at how precise and fluid the motion was. The sinewy grace of this new form was hard to overlook. Not stronger, faster, or more intelligent - but simply more me.
I rose from my seated position, noticing the ease with which I moved. It was as if every action, no matter how small, was executed with an exactness that was alien to my old body. I felt a keen sense of spatial awareness, as if my brain had been fine-tuned to understand the minute details of my surroundings and my body’s placement within them.
"Okay... let’s move," I whispered, positioning myself in the middle of the room.
I stretched out a hand, concentrating on reaching out as far as I could. I closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation, feeling the air around me, the exact space my body occupied. When I opened them again, I found myself precisely where I'd expected to be.
"Alright... something more." My words echoed in the emptiness of the room. This time, I tried moving with more speed. I darted from one side of the room to the other, my steps quick yet measured. There was no clumsy tripping or missteps, just seamless motion.
"Again," I announced, the sound of my voice bouncing off the walls. I picked up the small book on my bedside table and flung it into the air, my eyes tracking its arc. In a swift motion, I was there to catch it before it hit the ground. No fumbling, no second guessing, it was as though my mind and body were in perfect synchronization.
The sensation was fascinating. I wasn't a superhuman, far from it. I was just... in tune. As if every fibre of my being was synchronized to perform with precision, clarity and fluidity. It felt as though I'd been living my life in a fog and someone had just cleared it away, revealing the sharp, vivid world beneath.
"Breathe, Claire... breathe." I reminded myself again, this new reality, this profound self-awareness threatening to sweep me away in its currents. But amidst all the uncertainty, one thing felt irrefutable - I was more connected to myself than I had ever been.
Despite the shock, the strangeness of it all, this felt... right. Like I had finally found the harmony that I didn't even realize I was seeking. Yet, there was still a lingering curiosity, a need to push further, to truly understand the limits of this body.
The wall across my room seemed to echo my internal musings. I shook my head, letting out a rueful chuckle. "Well, Claire," I murmured to the silence, "You wanted to do some tests. Here goes nothing." I clenched my hand into a fist, drew back my arm, took a deep breath, and hit the wall.
The impact sent a shock through my hand, a feeling I noted as pain but didn't register as distress. My breath hitched slightly as I pulled my hand back, examining it. Minor redness colored my knuckles, the skin scraped and in some places fully broken. A little blood welled up, not enough to drip, just enough to swiftly clot the small lacerations. No intense pain, just a distant acknowledgement. I flexed my hand, watching as it responded fluidly, without hesitation.
Shaking my hand, I cast my gaze around the room, my eyes falling on the bedposts at the corners of my bed. They stood roughly two feet high, a challenging obstacle. An idea sparked within me, a daring test of balance. Pushing off the ground, I hopped onto the first post, my bare foot perched atop it. It wobbled under my weight, but I remained firm. A sense of exhilaration coursed through me as I held my balance, my body adjusting with precision to the minute shifts in weight.
"Hopping from one to another," I announced to myself, the faintest hint of a smile playing at the corners of my lips. The room was silent, save for the sound of my heartbeat thrumming in my ears. I bent my knee, pushing off the post and gracefully leaping towards the next one.
It was a surreal experience, my body moving with an accuracy that felt almost unnatural. Each hop was a perfect arc, each landing as stable as if I had been standing on solid ground. My form held, my mind perfectly in sync with my body's movements. "Impressive," I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. The understanding that I was in complete control of this body, this vessel, filled me with a sense of empowerment. It was as though I had finally bridged the gap between my mind and my physical form. This body was no longer a mere vehicle for my existence, but a part of me - responsive, precise, and perfectly attuned to my will.
The moment froze as the door to my room swung open, revealing Kyda in the doorway. She stood there, her typical air of composed tranquility unbroken even as she surveyed the scene before her. I held my awkward position, one foot perched on a bedpost, the other leg outstretched like a demented ballerina frozen mid-dance. The silence between us stretched, wrapping the room in its grasp.
A slight flutter of embarrassment washed over me, despite the logical part of my brain arguing against it. Seeing Kyda now as in stark contrast to my own ever evolving form brought to mind the lifeless constructs of the forge – is this someone I should react to emotionally or are my concerns wasted? Yet nevertheless the unexpected intrusion and the ridiculousness of my position made the heat rise to my cheeks. I chuckled awkwardly, releasing my balletic pose and hopping down from the bedpost.
In response, Kyda tilted her head slightly, observing me with her unwavering gaze. "Good morning, Claire," she said, her voice a monotone, devoid of any judgment or surprise. It was a fitting end to the peculiar morning of self-discovery, and a humble beginning to my first day aware of myself.