The mirror reflected a stranger.
Iva stared at her own reflection, barely recognizing the woman who stared back. Her cheekbones were too sharp, her eyes too hollow, her skin too pale. The vibrant, determined woman who had taken on the mantle of Messenger had been replaced by a shadow of herself.
She pressed her palm against the cool glass, tracing the outline of her face. She could feel her ribs beneath her thin nightgown, could see the dark circles that had taken up permanent residence under her eyes. Sleep had become a luxury she could no longer afford. Each time she closed her eyes, she saw the letters, the roses. Each time she drifted off, she felt unseen eyes watching her from the shadows.
The stalker had won.
Not by hurting her physically, but by slowly, systematically dismantlin
