What was on the other side of the mirror, that’s what Anna wanted to know. It had to be something, not just her own reflection looking back at her. When she moved her hand in front of the glass, didn’t the Anna in the mirror move just a tiny bit later, with a gesture just a tiny bit off from her own?
Peck said she was imagining things, but what did he know? He hadn’t caught the Glass Anna out of the corner of his eye, appearing in the mirror when Anna hadn’t been standing in front of it. He hadn’t seen how quickly she’d vanished when Anna had turned her head to really look, and saw nothing in the mirror, only it wasn’t nothing, was it, because there had been a blur of a lock of long red hair moving out of sight behind the mirror’s edge as the Glass Anna had disappeared from sight, hiding against the wall on her side of the mirror.
She hadn’t told Peck of the morning she’d gotten out of bed, wearing black cotton pajama pants and a blue tank top, while in the standing mirror across the room, Glass Anna was still on the mattress, wearing nothing, and with a reflected man that wasn’t Peck, not soft and wide in the middle, but hard and dark and layered in muscle. Anna had stepped closer to the mirror, watching the glass people, who were not asleep in the bed, but moving and touching in ways that were completely foreign to the relationship she and Peck muddled through. She didn’t realize how near to the mirror she was, not until her breath fogged the glass, obscuring her view. She stepped away then, not wanting to touch the mirror to wipe it clean, torn between being half-afraid of putting her hand through to the other side and wanting to do just that very thing.