Chloe's Room

You pass through the drywall and into Chloe's sanctuary. The room is a chaotic landscape of half-unpacked suitcases, designer shopping bags, and a full-length vanity mirror that she insisted be set up before her bed was even made.

Chloe is awake, but only just. She’s tangled in her silk sheets, the morning sun catching the highlights in her hair. She’s already reached for her phone—the modern umbilical cord. You can feel her energy; it’s different from her mother’s. It’s sharp, hungry, and vibrates with a restless need for validation.

She tosses the phone aside and sits up, her thin camisole sliding slightly off one shoulder. She catches her reflection in the large vanity mirror across the room. She freezes, tilting her head, studying her own curves with a critical, yet appreciative eye.

She remembers Tyler’s story from the night before—the ghost in the attic. She doesn't look scared; she looks intrigued. She wonders if a ghost is watching her right now. The thought doesn't make her cover up; instead, she sits up a little straighter, arching her back as she stretches, her chest straining against the thin fabric of her top.

"If you're here," she whispers playfully toward the mirror, "you better be a fan."

She stands up and walks toward the mirror, leaning in close to check her skin. She begins to slowly peel the camisole over her head to head for her morning shower, her eyes locked on her own reflection, almost as if she’s performing for an audience she can’t see.

You are standing right behind her in the reflection.