Simulacrum
Fiora looks at the stranger in the mirror.
Fiora's face looks pale as she stares into the mirror. There's not enough blood, never enough blood. Not in this body, this simulacrum of something alive. This body meant to sit in a cockpit until it outlived its usefulness.
Left to waste away.
And yet Shulk hadn't allowed that. Had come after her, thrown himself off a crumbling fortress for her. Pulled her from the wreckage of the Face that was meant to be her true body. Saved her. Cared for her.
Saw her as more than a dead girl walking, saw her as someone with more than a finite life running shorter and shorter. If only she could do the same.