She looked exactly the same as she had a year ago, but without a single bruise. She didn’t look tired or scared anymore. Her hair was perfect. She looked the best she ever had. She spent a long minute staring at herself in the mirror, finding the reflection looking back at her overwhelming. Not being able to see herself for a year had only added to the isolation. There was no confirmation that she existed. That she wasn’t just a headless ghost climbing mountains and following French aristocrats around (which did, admittedly, feel very fitting).