Monet rested her hand against the mirror, silently staring at the reflection that gazed back at her. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath as she pulled her hand away. Then she pulled her hand back, tightly clenching it into a fist as she opened her eyes again . . .
. . . and then she punched the mirror, not holding anything back.
Glass shattered, falling to the floor like rain, and her hand continued on through the back of the mirror and then onward through the wall. Tiny cracks appeared around the hole, moving out in every direction, and plaster tumbled down to join the shards of glass. She didn't even flinch as she pulled it back, letting it drop back to her side.
"You should not have done that."
Monet spun around, her hands clenching into fists as she brought them up in front of her. Then she froze, her hands falling back to her sides after a second or two, when she saw just who was standing – well, floating in midair, to be precise – behind her.
Terry smiled at her. Monet wasn't certain how it was supposed to come across, but she had the oddest feeling that the expression on Banshee's face was pity.
"Theresa," Monet said. She was aiming for blasé; even as she said the other woman's name, she knew there was too much emotion for that.
If anything, Terry's smile grew sadder. "You don't seem surprised to see me." She paused, just for a moment. "In this form, that is."
"Well, you know Madrox," Monet said, keeping her face as blank as possible. "He can't keep a secret to save his life."
Before she could even blink, Terry was only inches from her. Monet resisted the urge to pull away as Terry reached out and gently ran a hand through her hair.
"I am going to miss you," Terry said, a hint of sadness in her voice.
"Don't," Monet said sharply, reaching up to push Terry's hand aside. "We both know that's a lie."
Terry tilted her head, studying Monet's face for a moment as if she was trying to read something there. Then, out of nowhere, she laughed.
Before Monet could respond, Terry leaned forward and pressed her lips against hers. They felt as cold as ice and as hot as fire at the same time, strange and unnatural and nothing like Monet remembered from the handful of times they had kissed before. Monet froze, torn between her body's desire to kiss back and her brain's warnings to pull away as quickly as possible.
Terry made the decision for her, abruptly pulling away. "If you need me, I'll be there," she said quietly, meeting Monet's gaze straight on. For just a second, her eyes looked almost human. "Goodbye, Monet."
And then she was gone, as if she had never even been there.
Monet stared at the empty space for a moment. Then, tiredly, she turned back toward the remains of her mirror.
"Goodbye, Theresa," she said quietly.