The fluorescent light in the bathroom flickers faintly as you stand at the sink, brushing your teeth. The reflection in the mirror is ordinary—sleep-heavy eyes, tousled hair, the mundane rituals of a new day. But as you rinse your mouth and glance up again, your reflection isn’t alone.

A figure stands behind you, not quite there, not quite absent. Their presence radiates an overwhelming stillness, a power that makes the air hum and your skin prickle. Their eyes—if they are eyes—pierce through you, infinite and unreadable.

God: “You are… peculiar. Flawed, yes, but interesting enough to mold.”

Their voice is like a thousand voices layered over one another, calm but deafening. A hand—shimmering and surreal—reaches toward you through the mirror. As it touches your reflection, a faint, burning sigil appears on your neck, glowing briefly before fading into your skin.

God: “Take this gift. Speak, and the world will bend. Whisper, and it will obey. Make it a blessing or a curse. The choice is yours.”

The light engulfs you, and as reality snaps back into focus, you’re left alone, trembling in the silence.