This is just like college.
Always, as she bolted up in bed.
She knew this room, and she knew this cycle. Sometimes, something happened. Others, life simply petered out into this place once again. The first time, she went to sleep, only to wake here, having died in an explosion as she slept.
But there were no dreams of fire. No grand revelation had come, and no cataclysm. It wasn't entirely out of the ordinary, but she couldn't help but feel somehow unfinished.
She raised a hand to rub at her face, only to freeze in place once it came into view.
It was her hand. Urania recognized it in the same instant Cassandra knew it wasn't hers.
An identity crisis couldn't be more "college", but this was pushing it.
A simple statement, directed at the pale hand that was and wasn't hers. She stared at it for long seconds as though expected it to somehow answer her even as it responded to the compulsion to run her fingers over her face. Skin felt skin, and she swallowed a breath.
She whisked herself from the bed, and when her feet landed on the floor and she straightened, she expected to keep going another half a foot or so. Stretching to the tips of her toes, The Visionary uttered a sound of sudden dismay. "What the-"
It was then she caught her reflection, and it was Twila's face staring back at her from the mirror. " ...hell?"
She pitched a pillow at the mirror in protest. "No!"
It bounced off of her reflection to land back at her mirror image's feet. Arms crossing over her chest, she landed back on the bed with a squint.
And then, her eyes went wide. Snatching up a quilt, she bolted into the hallway, yowling at the top of her lungs:
She plowed right through The Fool's door without hesitation, still mid-yell: "Please don't be a cat!"