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Mirror Grace — First Person

I always find myself lingering in front of mirrors longer than I intend…

especially on days like this.

The room was soft with late-afternoon light, the kind that smooths every edge and makes even the quiet feel a little charged. I stepped in front of the mirror, adjusting the white mesh outfit on my shoulders, feeling the cool fabric fall into place. The heels made me stand a little taller — just enough to remind me of my own presence.

I watched myself watching myself.

It’s funny how a mirror can expose things a camera never could — the tilt of a smile, the confidence you didn’t realise had settled into your spine, the way your body shifts when no one’s telling you how to move.

“I’m not posing,” I murmured with a small smirk, glancing at my reflection like it was a co-conspirator.

“I’m just… existing. But you can keep pretending you’re not staring.”

The light slid down my shoulder as I shifted my weight, a slow, deliberate motion — not to reveal anything, but to let the moment stretch just long enough to make the atmosphere hum.

I could hear Moroi adjusting the lens behind me, but I didn’t turn.

The mirror was my partner in this little game, and I liked the way it framed me — soft, controlled, teasing without ever crossing a line.

I met my own eyes again, lips curling.

“See? I told you,” I whispered to my reflection.

“You’re the one who moves… and the room just follows.