The old version of herself standing before Elara looked like a reflection at first, but she was too real. Her hair was messier, there was a fear in her eyes that had not yet fully broken, and her posture carried all the hesitation today's Elara thought she had forgotten. This old Elara was the version from before the darkness of the temple, before the metal walls of the facility, before the cold words of the prophecy. She was still human enough to wait for someone to save her. Still wounded enough to believe that being loved and being chosen were the same thing.
When Elara looked at her, the first thing she felt was not pain. That disturbed her more. Because the person standing across from her was not a stranger from the past. It was her own voice. Her own face. Her own fear. But there was still an invisible distance between them. As if one had changed to survive, while the other had been left behind to ask the price of that change.
