Transit, 08 (Patreon)

Lori stood in front of the full-length mirror, her reflection an unfamiliar echo of her usual self. The white halter top hugged her form, its daring cut a stark departure from her norm, revealing more than it concealed. The denim cut-offs were a fringe of defiance against the conservative skirts that lined her closet at home. They were a statement of casual rebellion that felt strangely liberating against her skin.

She took in her reflection, the red platforms giving her a statuesque height she'd never known. The heels were like the final brushstroke on a canvas, changing the entire picture. She turned slowly, seeing herself from every angle, the woman in the mirror moving with her in synchronous discovery.

The Lori in the mirror was bold, unapologetic, a stranger with familiar features. She looked at herself, really looked, seeing beyond the clothes to the woman wearing them. The vulnerability, the hesitation, they were still there, but so was something new—a flicker of courage, a spark of intrigue at the unknown.

"You can do this," she whispered to her reflection. The mirror-Lori seemed to nod in agreement, her stance solid, even defiant. There was a challenge in her blue eyes, a silent beckoning to step into this unforeseen adventure with her head held high.

With a deep breath, she reached out and touched the cool glass, the surface separating two worlds—the one she knew, safe and structured, and the one that awaited her beyond the door, chaotic and uncertain. She was the bridge between them, and with a final nod to her reflection, Lori turned away from the mirror, from the silent affirmation of her newfound self.

She paused at the door, hand on the handle, feeling the pulse of the hotel beyond—a living entity with corridors that thrummed with the lives of countless others. And then, with a click that sounded like the starting gun of a race, she opened the door and stepped out, leaving the security of the room for the unpredictability of the night.