A young woman laid bare on the floor, shivering erratically. For the longest moment, all that she could do was stare down at the woman, and feel as though she were looking down at herself.
The woman looked up from where she lay, her eyes widened, and she screamed as she looked behind her twin. Turning around, her twin saw that Muse stood only a few feet behind her, brandishing a gun. Confused, the twin took a step back.
Muse gestured for her to take the gun from her. The woman took another step backwards. Muse glared at her. “You must. There is no time to debate this – and you have no mouth to do so, even if we did have the time. She's not you; she nothing. She's an It.”
Behind her, her twin groans, and turning around, she saw that she was convulsing from head to toe, her eyes fully exposed to the point that they nearly popped free from their sockets. Horror filled her to bursting, and she turned to face Muse once more, shaking her head erratically.
Anger blossomed red in Muse's cheeks, and for a moment, she can see something deep, beyond her adversary's composure – something hideous – hiding. “You do not want the knowledge that I possess. I can do great damage to you with it. It will be far more painful than it will be shooting yourself with this. Kill that pitiful creature, now.”
Although frightened, she shaked her head again, and Muse ran with frightening speed and grasped her, roughly. Glancing over to where Muse had grabbed her upper arm, she saw that what was once a beautiful hand is now a black, reptilian claw.
Shocked, she is in no place to fight back when Muse wrests her to the ground. She lays there, in a daze, as Muse strengthens her position over her. “Open your eyes,” Muse hisses into her ear. “The ground is reflective, now.”
She opens her eyes, and sees her own reflection. She also sees why she cannot speak, and cannot feel any mouth on her face.
The skin covering her looked sunken, bloated, and grey, like fresh clay. Looking back at her were eyes like shined rocks, that looked as though they had been shoved into her grotesque face. Hair grew sparse, thin, white, on her head in patches. She was lip-less, and where her mouth and nose should have been there was a smooth expanse on her badly formed face.
Feeling sick, she rose her arms up, and her reflection showed them to be pitiful sticks, tipped with crude versions of fingers. She flexed her fingers. The thing in the mirror flexed its.
The thing was unaware of the fact that Muse had let go of her. It didn't care.
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