In the room filled with cushions—so many cushions, in fact, that if they were organized into a fort, you'd have a solid chance of surviving an attack by a mildly aggressive toddler—Saya found herself sinking into a rather unexpected conversation. The dim violet light from the wall lanterns cast a curious glow, adding to the strange atmosphere, while the turtles, formerly owls, shuffled about the room with the sort of nonchalance that only reptiles can manage. If you'd asked Saya, this was a considerable improvement over the owls. Owls are creepy. Turtles, though, are just kind of… considerate. No hooting. No judging. Just slow, silent acceptance.

Time in this world was a concept Saya had long since given up trying to grasp. Was it day? Was it night? And why was she no longer hungry? The gnawing emptiness she’d felt at the start of her journey had mysteriously vanished, leaving her with a question she wasn’t quite ready to tackle. So she pushed it to the back of her mind and focused instead on the one solid thing in her life: Sage Carpenter. 

He was lounging—or rather, sinking—into one of the larger cushions, looking like a boy who had long since forgotten what it meant to be annoyed by anything. Sure, he was nosy, cheeky, and maybe a tad bit too self-satisfied, but at least he seemed genuinely pleased by her company. And after being alone for two years, Saya thought, who wouldn't be?

But the more time she spent with him, the more questions piled up. And she was never one to let a question go unanswered.

"So," Saya started, hesitant but determined, "tell me something about yourself. The only thing I know is your name. How old are you? How did you end up here? Have you seen anyone else besides me?"

She was pushing it, she knew, but she had to know. Every detail mattered. Sage, however, looked completely unperturbed by her interrogation, as though she'd just asked him about the weather.

"I don't know how I got here," he replied, his tone as casual as if he were discussing his favorite flavor of ice cream. "Maybe the same as you. I didn’t remember anything from the beginning. But it‘s okay. Magic is quite cool! You’re my first real human."

"And your age? I’m fifteen, by the way." Saya felt like she was coaxing information out of a particularly uncooperative piece of wood.

Sage looked away, suddenly awkward. "Twenty-one," he said quickly, as if by saying it fast enough it would sound more believable. Then, realizing his mistake, he added, "Fifteen?! That makes me waaay older than you. I’m the—"

"You’re never twenty-one," Saya cut in, squinting at him with a look that could cut glass. "Maybe seventeen."

Sage deflated. "Fine, you got me. I’m seventeen."

With his lie exposed, Sage turned his attention to something far more trivial: her outfit. His eyes traveled up and down, taking in the bizarre ensemble she’d somehow found herself in. "Your… your clothes look hideous. What is that? A dress under a hoodie? Who wears that? My grandma doesn’t even wear dresses this ugly. HAHAHA!"

Saya's eyebrows twitched dangerously.

This punk!

"HEY! You’re in no position to question my outfit! You look like someone had dipped you into a rainbow! AND," she added, springing to her feet, "I NEVER WEAR DRESSES!"

Sage's laughter faded, replaced by a curious intensity as he studied her face. "Saya," he said, voice suddenly serious.

"What?" she snapped, still bristling.

"Without looking down… can you describe to me how you look?"

Saya stared at him, completely thrown. What kind of question was that? "What?"

"You said you never wear dresses. What do you usually wear?"

Why is that important right now?

Saya thought hard, trying to remember. It should have been easy. Clothes were clothes, right? "I wear casual stuff. Baggies, sweaters, hoodies, sneakers… that kind of thing."

Sage nodded, as if that confirmed something. "I just remembered one thing. It’s been ages, so I forgot." He paused, his eyes locking onto hers. "What’s your hair color, Saya?"

One more stupid question and I‘ll kick his butt!

"What kind of dumb question is that?! It’s brown, as you can see." She was at her limits.

But Sage wasn’t convinced. He sighed, rubbing his face with his palm, as if Saya had just given him a headache. With a flick of his wrist, a mirror appeared at her right side, floating there with an air of quiet authority.

"Take a look."

Saya turned to face the mirror, her reflection glaring back at her. Only, it wasn’t quite her reflection. It was her, but… not her. Her hair, usually brown, was a shocking violet. And not a subtle, could-pass-for-natural shade, but the sort of violet you’d see in a comic book or on a particularly rebellious anime character. It was trimmed short in the back, with side bangs that reached down to her chin. She looked like a punk. A punk who’d been through a very specific kind of makeover that she definitely hadn’t asked for.

Her eyes were the same… well, almost. The blue was more intense, like someone had turned up the saturation on an old TV. They looked like ocean waves caught in a storm, and while they were undeniably her eyes, they also weren’t. And then there was her outfit. The hoodie was pale blue, at least something close to her style, but there was something off about it. It didn’t fit right. It was too big, like she’d borrowed it from someone twice her size. And underneath… oh, the horror. A hideous dress with a lavender fern pattern that screamed 'granny chic' in the worst possible way. To top it off, she was barefoot. No shoes, just her pale, awkwardly bare feet.

She looked like a dork.

Saya stared at her reflection, her mind reeling. She turned back to Sage, who was watching her with a half-amused, half-apologetic expression.

"That can happen," he said, shrugging his shoulders as if this sort of thing happened all the time. "When I arrived here, I looked hideous too. So I changed myself with my imagination."

Saya turned back to the mirror, as if maybe, just maybe, the reflection would have changed back. But no, there she was, still looking like she’d fallen out of some sort of fashion nightmare. She felt a hot flush of shame creep up her neck.

Sage continued, trying to sound reassuring. "Don’t worry, we can fix your clothes with imag—EEEEW!!"

His voice shot up an octave in pure disgust. He slapped both hands over his eyes with such dramatic intensity that he toppled backwards, disappearing into the sea of cushions behind him.

"WHY DID YOU SHOW ME THAAAAT?!" His voice was muffled by the cushions, but the horror in it was unmistakable.

Saya stood frozen, her face a mix of shock and confusion. What on earth was wrong with him?! The mirror hung there, reflecting her puzzled expression, as the girl spun around her axis to see what he just saw.

She froze.

Can someone please end this world…