Sensitive warmth trickles across each cell, each pore, each inch of skin. It skitters in and out of little waves that softly glide across her being. 

Fear has burrowed into her heart.

Steeling herself, she open her eyes. 

What she sees is herself. 

Not her actual self, of course. It appears to be some form of mirror that adds color to what it reflects. The girl’s reflection is a patchwork of random colors, shifting and melting smoothly and consistently across and over each other.

The mirror stretches out endlessly in all directions, it seems.

Her reflection smiles. 

She does not.

There is no mirror.

“Hi,” beams her brilliant twin.

Moments pass before the girl can move. She stumbles to her feet, helped by dry and rough hands. She turns. Another copy her, made of wood. Confusion grips the reeling girl.

“Too dark for ya?” asks the colorful clone before snapping her fingers. 

The world is now bright. The mishmash of color giggles gleefully as the wooden one watches.

The girl stumbles, groping at the walls. Cave walls? Is this an allegory?

“You’re funny,” says her color self. “No,” says the wooden one. 

We find ourselves as confused as the girl. What’s going on? Where is this?

“Trapped,” goes Wood.

Claustrophobia causes the question; by what?

“Options,” is the answer.

…What?

“The storm,” says the wooden girl. “It’s murder out there.” She points behind the girl. The girl turns and slowly walks towards the mouth of the cave, passing pointless symbols on the cave walls.