Your Reflection Isn't You

Meanwhile, in Some Dimension…

I was walking through a colonnade, surrounded by what appeared to be shallow waters. In the distance, more colonnades stretched into the horizon, their reflections rippling in the water. Beyond them, the landscape was sparse—perhaps some small trees, but little else. The sunlight was direct and bright, as if it were around noon. Other people walked there too, though whether they were visitors or inhabitants was unclear.

As I passed a mirror, I caught a glimpse of my reflection. Or so I assumed. I hadn’t looked directly, just enough to register movement—a figure walking in step with me.

A few steps later, something felt off. A faint discomfort, like an itch in my thoughts.

I slowed. Turned back.

The mirror stood there, the figure inside moving just as I did. But the longer I looked, the stranger it became. The posture, the proportions—close, but wrong. The face, familiar, yet undeniably not mine.

A tingling sensation ran from the tips of my toes, through my spine, all the way to the top of my head. The world flickered, as if the air itself had briefly warped. Columns swayed in a way stone shouldn’t, their reflections distorting independently of the water’s movement. And just like that, I knew.

I was dreaming.

Reality wavered, bending under the weight of my realization. I turned to the nearby people, eager to share my discovery. I had always wondered what those who inhabited dreams had to say. But instead, they only raised their eyebrows, their expressions edged with disdain, as if I were some lunatic disrupting their day.