the reflection had discovered a new way of editing its memories, a new way to seamlessly cover over the gaps, then it had been telling the truth. Valkyrie tapped the glass again. “It looks like I owe you an apology.”
The reflection leaned forward till its head passed through the mirror. “No need. I am incapable of being offended.”
Valkyrie frowned. “Yeah. Yeah, I knew that. I know that.”
“Then why did you apologise?”
“I’m … not sure.”
“Do you want me to finish your homework?”
“Yeah. Good. You do that.”
The reflection nodded, stepped out of the mirror and sat at the desk. Unsettled, with no clear reason why, Valkyrie went back downstairs. Halfway down, someone knocked on the front door. Valkyrie crossed the hall, opened the door, looked out into darkness.
Melancholia stood where the garden path met the pavement. Her hood was down, the breeze playing with her hair, a smile playing on her lips.
“Hello, Valkyrie,” she said, then held her arms out to either side and said, “Surprise.”
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