Mirror Image

Her hip bumped the toothpaste off the counter. She angled closer, frustrated by her breath fogging up the reflection. Side to side, mouth wide open. If she could only twist a bit more, crane her eyes, she could see.

The twitching started again, spindly twine scratching its way up her throat, like bile-coated barbed wire. She yelped, choking on the blood mixing in her lungs. Her throat closed. Her eyes rolled up, and her forehead smacked the glass. She convulsed, smearing ichor and saliva across her face, leaving a blur behind.

As the oxygen leeched from her brain, the last recorded sensation was of two small hands, tipped with claws, emerging from between the slack lips. A new birth.