He falls.
Not physically.
But deeper—into her world.

The mirrors around him pulse, breathe, whisper. Every reflection offers a different lie. In one, he’s smiling. In another, he’s dead. In another, she’s holding his heart.

"Which one is you, Ezra?" Livia’s voice echoes like a lullaby from hell.

He shuts his eyes.

He doesn’t answer.

Because he’s afraid the answer has changed.

The stage beneath his feet becomes liquid thought. The air turns thick with laughter that’s not real, applause from mouths that don't exist.

But—

He has something she doesn’t.

His totem.

It spins in his palm, defying every illusion.
Because it never lies.

“You’re clever,” Livia says from the ceiling, the floor, everywhere.

“You had to be,” he growls, “to survive this long.”

He focuses on the coin. Watches how it falls.
Gravity is truth.
Sound is truth.
Touch is truth.

And that’s enough.

Ezra exhales. His pulse stabilizes.
He begins walking forward—step by step—toward her.

And now she falters. Just slightly.

“You’re still standing,” Livia whispers.

“I’m not here to stand,” Ezra says. “I’m here to see through you.”

The lights crash into white. The mirrors shatter—soundlessly.
And for a split second…

They’re the only two people in existence.

"Checkmate," Ezra whispers. "But whose king just fell?"

He spins the coin again. This time not in fear—but in confidence.

“Let’s end this,” he says, stepping closer, eye to eye with the Queen of Horror.

And then, like a curtain peeling back, her gaze opens.

Not her eyes.

Her gaze.

Like something ancient remembering itself.
Something vast and cruel and oddly... intimate.

Ezra sees—

A throne of flesh and bone.
A sea of hands reaching upward.
A theater where the actors scream between acts.
And Livia, sitting calmly with her legs crossed, sipping from a cup filled with ink and teeth.

“You wanted to see me,” she says, softly. “You wanted to know what lies beneath.”

His breath catches.

“So look, mentalist. Look.”

His mind resists.
But it’s too late.

He plunges.

His totem drops to the floor, spinning violently—no longer smooth, no longer silent—it screams like metal tearing through bone.

He sees a memory that isn’t his. A pain that isn’t his.
And he feels everything she’s ever buried alive.

His knees hit the stage. He clutches his skull.

“Stop. Stop—!”

Livia tilts her head.
No pity. No glee.
Only a chilling stillness.

“You were never meant to observe, Ezra,” she says. “You were meant to perform.”

And so he does.

Ezra screams.

“This is not your act,” Livia whispers. “This is your unmasking.” 

"You wished to see behind the veil. Now choke on what lies beneath."

Ezra stands on stage, the spotlight dividing him from the rest of the world like a guillotine's blade.

Around him, the audience leans forward in delighted confusion, caught in the illusion. But for Ezra, reality is slipping like sand through his fingers.

Livia doesn’t move. She simply watches—eyes like mirrors that reflect not what is, but what you fear most.

Ezra clutches his totem: a silver coin, worn smooth by years of handling. His anchor to sanity. His heartbeat pulses in the metal.

Flip. Catch. Look.

Heads.

Real.

But the lights flicker.

Livia steps forward, her voice low enough that only he hears.

“Still clinging to that coin like it holds your soul together. But tell me, Ezra… what happens when even your truth becomes a lie?”

He doesn't respond. Can’t. Her presence distorts logic itself.

His mind floods with memories that aren't his. Faces. Rooms. Murders.

He’s drowning.

Flip. Catch. Look.

Tails.

Wrong side.

He blinks. The stage is gone. He’s back in a childhood bedroom—but it’s not his.

Whispers crawl up the walls like vines. A voice that sounds like his father tells him he never existed. The mirror across from him holds no reflection.

And Livia’s laughter rings like cracked porcelain.

“You should never have looked into me, darling. You asked to see my soul.”

“I don’t have one.”

Ezra screams—but only in his mind. Outside, he’s still standing, coin trembling in his hand, sweat pouring like rain, pupils wide as if staring into an abyss.

Flip. Catch. Look.

Both sides are blank.

No more reality to hold onto.