SAGE

The woman in the mirror wasn't a stranger—she was a contradiction.

Me naked. Me unhidden. Unmasked.

No wig. No lens. No pretenses. Just my own reflection, the kind that would even make the gods hesitate.

My skin gleamed like warm honey beneath the soft candlelight, smooth and unblemished, with a faint shimmer where the light kissed it. My body was a sculptor's rebellion—curves where delicacy should've been, strength where fragility was expected.

My hair, white as moonlight, fell in a loose cascade to my waist, fine strands threaded with streaks of gold instead of black. It shimmered with every movement, alive almost, like it remembered the hands that once...