She locked that door. The black door, she locked it, nailed it shut, made it [b]stop existing[/b]. There is no way she got out of that door. She's there, just on the other side, the outside, Outside even. It's not fair. She got out.

It's not fair.

She can feel the colors leeching out of the room, a black and white wall print reflected in the mirror in it's faded blue patterns. The Woman Who Isn't There reaches out towards the mirror, slowly, and you know that there's that grin under the mask, the one that's only teeth and has nothing happy about it. Cracks start to show, not in the mirror, but in the black and white reality as the Other's hand, just the silhouette, gets closer, stopping just short of touching the mirror.

There's a rattle-SLAM-click as Mila vanishes into the storage room at speed, followed by violent sobbing.