"We made a mistake, didn't we, General."

It was Giselle, standing in the doorway, her arms locked behind her back and feet shoulder-width apart. A military stance, the type a conqueror might take. She wore her Crystal uniform, but in red, the dorky little jacket trimmed in ermine, the skirt edged in gold. Tangled in her loose gold hair was a circlet, regal wings extending from the temples. She looked down her prim nose at Tate, a sneer wrinkling her perfect mouth. "By we, of course, I mean... me."

She held out her hands and shrugged, an eloquent motion that had long begun to mean I don't care in their secret language. In her left hand rested a gun. Tate knew that gun--it was her father's. Iuri didn't have a license for it; he kept it, he said, to keep intruders out from his family. More like to keep intruders out of his stash of Crown, was Tate's opinion. He hardly ever knew where the gun was anyway, so she wasn't surprised Giselle had taken it. She was surprised, though, that Giselle had taken off the safety. Her friend did not take risks like that. "We're a perfect team, you know? You the brawn, and I the brains. Our world would be a beautiful dream..." Giselle stood unmoving as Tate got off the bed and approached her. She threw the gun to the floor, like it was something disgusting.

"You're strong, and you can do everything. You're so kind," said the beautiful girl.

Tate reached out to touch Giselle's shoulder, and encountered something hard and flat instead. She looked at her hand. Looked at the reflection of her hand, followed the pale arm to the shoulder, the clavicle to the face. Her face, but for the black pits in place of eyes, was Tate's. "You're so kind," said Tatiana mockingly, her lips curling into a smirk. "That wasn't Giselle, that was my own sick head. Why would Giselle ever envy me? She's so pretty. Soooo feminine. When she looks at me all jealous--I mean, if she ever did--man, that drives me wild."

Tatiana, the not-Tate, laughed as she stepped over the frame of the mirror. "She knows. Without me, goddamn! How worthless is she? We're the dream team." She walked towards the desk, throwing her arms out wide and then slamming her hands into Tate's desk. It fractured, splinters of pressurized wood flying an unrealistic distance, whipping through the air. "I can't win. I'm worthless without her! Didn't I already prove it? When she died? Didn't I give up? Didn't I die, too?" The black-eyed version of herself whipped around, and without moving she stood before her mirror-counterpart, seized Tate by her arms and grinned a death's rictus grin of desperation. She leaned in, slowly, rested her chin on Tate's shoulder. "I'm pathetic," she whispered, her lips inches from Tate's ear. "And she's not... That's why she's my friend. I'll never let her go. Never, never, never."

Finally Tate could move, and she shoved the counterpart away. Her breath came shallow and fast as she stared at the crumpled figure. She wanted the monster gone. She wanted this terrible version of herself to leave--to die--to return to the mirror. "When the time comes," said the mirror-Tatiana, "I'll be the one alive. You'll be dead. I'll kill you." She was picking herself up, jerkily, like a nightmare figure from a horror movie. "I'll be the one standing. Two hits! I hit you, you hit the ground. Or rather..."

The black pits had alighted upon the gun Giselle had dropped to the floor. Tate looked too, but too late, because mirror-Tatiana was already there, hand wrapping around the grip. Then, smiling, she knelt across from Tate. She popped out the cartridge, slotted it back in. "You don't mind, do you? This way, you'll never have to worry about her again. And she won't even notice you're gone! Oh, it's so perfect..." Casually, she lashed out, and Tate buckled, arms wrapping around her stomach. The cold muzzle of the gun pressed into the top of her head, a square with rounded edges pressing, keeping her face in the stainless white carpet.

"Look how easy it is. I'll even do it for you. Haven't I wondered about dying?" Something clicked; an empty round? Something? Tate couldn't see blood. Nothing hurt. "It's okay, isn't it? For me to replace you? After all, I'm still you. We're practically the same!" Her voice was rising in octave, interrupted now by high-pitched giggles. The muzzle quaked with the force of her mirror-self's laughter. "Watch--well, you can't, can you. It's okay. I'll narrate."

Tate was shaking now. She could hear someone faintly outside the door, couldn't tell them that there was a mirror blocking it through a mouthful of carpet. "I told you it was so easy. Just put the gun to your head, and..."