The Invisible Girl pulled the hood lower. Voices wafted toward her, their sources striding up and down the hallway outside. It was their doing, this cloak she always wore—woven from their refusal to look at her, to speak to her, to see her at all.
Fists clenched, she turned to the mirror before her. She gasped at the emptiness where her reflection should have stood. She could no longer even see herself. Trembling, she lay back the hood, shoved the cloak behind her shoulders.
Her form quavered, a faint echo in the mirror; but it was there. She smiled. I don’t have to wear this.
She let the cloak fall from her back as she walked through the door.