Prism
The room is empty, cold and still. Outside, thunder crashes, and the only light comes from the small window above her. She wanders over to the other side of the room and sits down, her back against the hard wall, pinning her fair hair between her body and the white plaster.
In the dim light, she notices a mirror on the wall opposite her—the only furnishing in the bare room. Slowly, she gets up and walks over.
She runs her hand along the frame of the mirror, which runs from floor to ceiling. The wood is rough, but old and worn. The girl in the mirror runs her hand along the edge too, in a perfectly copied gesture.
Who is that girl, the one staring back at her? The girl looks like her, in the physical sense, but does she really have that monumental sadness in her eyes? When did that appear there?
Outside, the storm has halted, and a shaft of sunlight streams through the window. Reflecting through the glass, a rainbow falls across her face, and black and white is transformed into dazzling color.