Desiree Dul [upd] – Instant

“Who are you?” she whispered.

The reflection’s lips moved, but no sound came from the glass. Instead, a sensation bloomed in Desirée’s throat: hunger . Not for food. For noise. For color. For the sharp bite of a winter wind and the sting of a slap and the taste of cheap red wine drunk from the bottle at two in the morning. desiree dul

Desirée had been invisible so long she’d forgotten what being seen felt like. The next morning, she wore a red scarf. The day after, she yelled at a man who cut in line at the bakery. Her hands shook. Her heart hammered. And the mirror, hidden in her coat pocket, grew warm. “Who are you

Desirée almost filed it as evidence. That was her job. But the letters D.D. echoed inside her chest. She held the mirror up. Not for food

The mirror watched from her purse. And the reflection smiled.

And in the basement, in an unmarked box behind a leaking pipe, a small black mirror held a quiet, beige woman who finally understood: Dul wasn’t her name. It was a warning.