Reclaiming Shadows

Late afternoon sunlight spilled through the high windows of the boutique, illuminating the glint of sequins and silk as it kissed the racks of designer gowns. The air was filled with soft music and the distant murmur of other shoppers, but for Callie, the world felt strangely muted.

She stood in front of the full-length mirror, arms slack at her sides. Her reflection stared back with tired, hollow eyes that didn't feel like hers anymore. The woman in the mirror wore luxury like armor—designer clothes, sculpted lines, bold hues—but no matter what she put on, nothing looked right. Nothing felt right. Her reflection was a stranger.

Her stomach twisted—not with hunger, but with a cold, dull ache that had long since become familiar. She'd skipped breakfast. Again. And lunch. And the granola bar Natasha had quietly handed her before they left was still untouched in the depths of her purse. She told herself she wasn't hungry, that food just didn't sound good, that maybe she'd eat later. But beneath all that, the truth was harder to admit: eating made her feel out of control.

Each bite felt like a betrayal. A weakness. Something inside her whispered that she didn't deserve to eat, not when she felt so broken, not when she couldn't keep the weight of grief and guilt from dragging her under. Her body was shrinking—not just physically, but in presence. Fading. Fading.

The boutique was beautiful, elegant—everything she used to love. And still, all she felt was... disconnected. Disjointed from herself, from the girl who used to laugh freely and twirl in front of mirrors, excited by the shimmer of fabric and promise.

Wanda appeared at her side with another dress in hand, a sleek, fiery red piece that shimmered slightly in the light. The kind of thing Callie would've leapt to try on once. It clung to possibility, to strength and confidence. Wanda held it out with a small, hopeful smile.

"Come on, Callie," she said gently. "This one will look amazing on you. I just know it."

Callie took the dress mechanically, her fingers brushing over the smooth fabric. It was soft and beautiful and expensive, and she felt absolutely nothing. She didn't even try to force a smile. Her gaze flickered back to the mirror as she held the dress against her frame.

Her collarbones were sharper now. Her cheeks hollower. Even under layers of couture, she could feel her body weakening—the way her arms trembled more easily, the way her knees felt unsteady, the constant chill that settled in her bones no matter how warm the room was.

"It's not going to work," she murmured under her breath. "No matter what I wear... nothing's going to change how I feel."

Behind her, Natasha stepped closer, her presence grounding. Usually composed, poised, and unshakable, Natasha softened around her. She studied Callie's reflection with a slight frown and quiet intensity.

"This isn't just about the clothes," Natasha said firmly but gently. "We brought you out because we wanted to give you space to breathe again."

Callie shook her head, her voice thin. "You've both been trying so hard to help. I know that. But I can't shake it. I keep seeing the past. I keep thinking about... him."

Silence fell for a beat.

Wanda reached out and placed a hand on Callie's shoulder. "I know it's been hard," she said softly. "But that's why we're here, Callie. Not to fix it—but to be here. With you."

Her lips trembled as she looked back at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were dimmed, shadowed by grief and exhaustion. Her hand moved, smoothing the red dress against her torso, but the spark—the thrill of fashion, of identity, of beauty—was gone.

"Maybe I'm not who I was anymore," she whispered. "Maybe I can't be her again."

Neither Wanda nor Natasha said anything right away. Instead, they moved closer, surrounding her in quiet support. Natasha rested a hand gently against her back; Wanda stood in front of her, steady and present.