Eventually the tears ran dry, leaving her hollow and wrung out, staring at the intricate patterns woven into the carpet beneath her cheek. They glowed faintly in the low light—more wards, probably, more magic protecting her from herself.
She forced herself to stand, legs unsteady, and made her way to the bathroom. She needed to wash her face, brush her teeth if there was a toothbrush, maybe splash some cold water on her skin and pretend she could rinse away the last few hours along with her ruined makeup.
The bathroom was obscene in its luxury. Marble floors, a tub that could fit four people, a shower with more settings than her old television had channels. She ignored all of it and went straight to the sink, turning on the tap without looking up at the mirror.
But she couldn't avoid it forever.
Sophia lifted her head slowly, bracing herself to see the wreckage of her face—mascara streaked down her cheeks, eyes puffy and red, the aftermath of crying written plainly across her features.
Instead, she found herself staring at a stranger.
No. Not a stranger. Herself. But not.
Her face was the same shape, her features arranged in the familiar pattern she'd seen every day for nineteen years. Brown eyes, straight nose, full lips, the small scar on her left eyebrow from when she'd fallen off a swing set at age seven. All there. All hers.
But something had changed.
Her skin had always been warm brown, but now it seemed to glow from within, luminous in a way that had nothing to do with the bathroom's flattering lighting. Her eyes were still brown, but the color was richer now, deeper, with flecks of gold that caught the light when she tilted her head. And her hair—
Sophia reached up with trembling fingers to touch the dark waves that fell past her shoulders. It looked thicker, shinier, each strand seeming to hold its own subtle shimmer. When she moved her head, the light caught in ways that were almost hypnotic.
She looked like herself. She looked like someone else. She looked human. She looked distinctly not.
"No," she whispered to her reflection. "No, no, no."
The woman in the mirror stared back with those too-bright eyes, and Sophia saw what Eddie would see when he next looked at her. What everyone would see. The change was subtle—she could probably pass for human if no one looked too closely, if she stayed in dim lighting, if she never met anyone's gaze directly. But anyone who knew her, really knew her, would notice immediately that something was different.
She pressed her palms against the cool marble of the sink and leaned closer to the mirror, examining every centimeter of her face. The changes were small individually but devastating collectively. Her bone structure seemed more defined, cheekbones slightly more pronounced. Her lips were fuller, the color more vivid. Even her eyelashes looked longer, darker, framing those impossible golden-flecked eyes.
She was beautiful. That was the horrible truth of it. Whatever her awakening had done, it had enhanced her, refined her, turned her into some idealized version of herself that probably matched what a destined empress was supposed to look like. Something closer to the goddess she spent her life changing time with.
"Well Damn." She said out loud, whilst looking at herself in the mirror.
She wanted to claw it off. Wanted to scrub at her skin until the glow faded, wanted to dye her hair back to its normal shade, wanted to gouge out those traitorous eyes that refused to be just plain hazel-ish brown anymore.
"I can't go back," she said to her reflection, her voice breaking. "I can't see Eddie looking like this. I can't see anyone. They'll know. One look and they'll know something's wrong with me."
The woman in the mirror opened her mouth, but no comfort came out. Because there was no comfort to give. Sophia was marked now, changed irrevocably by magic she hadn't asked for and couldn't control. The awakening had rewritten her on a cellular level, and there was no going back.
She gripped the edge of the sink hard enough that her knuckles went white. The marble cracked.
Sophia jerked her hands back, staring in horror at the spiderweb fractures spreading from where her fingers had been. She'd barely squeezed. Hadn't even been trying to break anything. Just gripped the counter the way any normal person would when trying to steady themselves, and the solid stone had crumbled like chalk.
"Perfect," she said bitterly. "Can't even touch things now without destroying them."
The power regulator orb in the bedroom pulsed brighter for a moment, responding to her surge of emotion. Drawing off the excess energy before it could build into something dangerous. At least that was working.