Chapter Five: The Mirrors Truth

“I, Violet, welcome you to my TED Talk,” I announce to my reflection, playing both speaker and audience. “I traverse the spectrums of consciousness—from a powerful lion who knows she sits atop the food chain, to a timid rabbit cowering in fear.”

My reflection shifts with each word. 

One moment, I’m youthful and radiant—grey eyes glowing like moonstone, waves of hair flowing like ocean currents, my features are luminous under my imagined stage lights. The next, reality bends, particles rearrange, and I become a hag—ancient and hollow-eyed.

“My perception,” I continue, mesmerized by the dance of light across my face, “is coloured by how much light reaches me. The pigments of my feelings paint everything I see.”

My reflection’s lips speak to me: “Others shift too. In fact entire populations can slide between states of consciousness simultaneously, repainting the world to match.”

I step back from the mirror, heart hammering. Where did that come from? That was my voice, but the thought wasn’t mine. 

An ancestral knowing buried deep in my bones awakens inside of me—our collective consciousness is regressing, it wasn’t always this way.

My reflection’s words linger as I reach for my phone, desperate for a foothold. My screen is open to social media; the first post is a meme that says: “Margaret Mead believed caring for the wounded defines civilization.” We aren’t caring anymore, we’re hiding.

The synchronistic timing of this post sends me floating again. I grip the edge of the sink. Stay earthbound—for Cillian.

I notice that the dish soap is nearly empty, and open up my notes app to write a reminder to get more, but my thumb slips across the glass screen, tapping open a forgotten, years old, note. The title glows back at me: “The Constellation Framework”

I scroll through pages and pages of the secret world I once architected. I see: A charter for a system that values ecological restoration as currency. A detailed plan for decentralized governance, where locals make decisions for themselves, not a faceless loudspeaker. It’s all here, written out. A viable new system for us.

I clutch the sink harder, feeling the sheer futility of my dream as a physical weight. I catch a glimpse of my sad eyes in my reflection in the metal. My only audience. I turn on the tap, and let the dream go down the drain along with the cold rushing water, then push myself out of the small room.

After sinking into my futon to relax, my phone screen lights up unprovoked with a link to an article entitled: “Quantum entanglement”. Maybe quantum theory holds the key to fix this?

I read on: “Quantum entanglement is when two particles become linked in such a way that whatever happens to one instantly affects the other, even if they’re far apart.” The words resonate with the hollow ache in my chest, where connection should be.

“Ding” I look at my phone, and see a text from William: “I will meet you at the gate tomorrow at 3pm with Cillian.”

Then the thought hits me, a truth that comes as recognition, not revelation: William and I are quantum entangled. Whenever I have a bad day, he is having one too. Whenever my heart fills with warmth for him, he texts me immediately after. My love for him isn’t just a feeling—it’s woven into the universe’s fabric.

I stare at the phone. This device—it’s my lifeline. My only connection to anything outside the gate. Maybe when technology evolves into the quantum realm, it will transform from destroyer to saviour?

“Ding.”

The email notification interrupts my thoughts. I never get emails anymore?

The sender is “University of Concordance”. My pulse quickens as I read:

“We are recruiting former university students for an experimental study. Compensation: $15,000. This experiment tests new virtual consciousness technology. Your psychological profile meets our criteria.

The experiment involves a human-computer interface that will allow interaction with the internet using thought alone. The mechanisms are shipped out upon agreement.

Confidentiality agreement required.

Warning: This experiment carries risks. Legal waivers mandatory.

Consider carefully. Respond immediately.”

The air leaves my lungs. Another synchronicity, the timing of this invitation is so precise it feels orchestrated. 

Why me? Why now?

My hands tremble. Is this technology’s next evolution—the bridge between problem and solution? 

Or is this how they trap us free thinkers, by dissolving the boundary between mind and machine until nothing remains but data? This could either enslave my mind, or give me the power to free humanity…

The cursor blinks in the reply field.

I catch my own gaze in the darkness of my now sleeping phone screen, and my reflection says, “All your reflections are choices. Even fear.”