It only takes a few seconds. I fall into a slumber...
In a white room, I’m sitting in front of a great mirror. I breathe in and approach it slowly. Why is it that I have two reflections? On my right is my wolf, standing proudly, her perfect white fur shiny brightly. I walk towards her, but when I get close, she suddenly starts growling furiously. I can’tapproach her? Why is she rejecting me? I... Wait, is this really my wolf? She... Something feels wrong about her. The scar! I realize she doesn’t have my scar on her left eye. She is perfect, her sapphire blue eyes glaring at me. She’s different but... I still feel she is my wolf. I try to get close again, but she growls, warning me not to come closer. She will really attack, so I step back.
I turn to look at the other reflection. This isn’t a wolf... I take a few steps closer. It’s a little girl, curled up, hiding her face in her arms. It’s as if she’s crying, yet I can’t hear any sound coming from her. I approach, and she lifts her face. She’s... me. Me, when I was a child. I stare at all her bruises, cuts. She looks just like I used to, malnourished and weak. Her hair is a mess, and the scar on her face is slowly bleeding.
“Who are you?” She asks.
“I am you.”
She shakes her head.“You can’t be me.”
“I am you, in the future, I think.”
“I don’t have a future,” she whimpers.
“You do. You are... my past.”
“Wrong.”
She’s not? But she looks exactly like what I used to look like... I turn around, and the wolf is glaring at us, still growling. So, I address the little girl again.
“Who are you?” I ask
She shrugs.
“Who are you?” She asks.
“I...”
How do I answer that?
“My name is Nora.”
“You’re just a name?”
“No, I am... a werewolf, too.”
She stares at me in disbelief. What else can I say? Who am I...? Does she mean my past or my identity? My family? What do I do?
“I am you,” I say.
“You’re not me!” She yells.
“I am your future.”
“I don’t have a future.”
“You do,”I insist.
“I can’t. I’m dead, you know.”
She... wait, what? I shake my head. “You are not dead! You’re just... The past, my past.”
“No, I’m the one you killed. Look at me. You’re not me anymore. So, I’m dead.”
What she says is right, in some way, but... Why doesn’t it feel right? I look at her again. The fresh cut on her face... Is she me from when I was seven, after my parents’ death? It’s when Alec and I lived in the slums...
“...I’m sorry,” I whisper.
