Reflection

My world is confined to a single room.
Sunlight shines through sheer curtains, filling the room as my double rises from bed.
Skin prickling, my arms rise in unison with my double in a long stretch. Both of our feet sink into the thick rug as she stands. She walks forward, and my steps echo hers.
Standing before the threshold that separates our rooms, my double stares at me.
"Ugh, of all the days to have bad hair." She grumbles, running a hand through her hair. My fingers strain to close around my hair, but refuse to obey.
I'm a puppet. Even as we both turn away from the threshold, my motions mimic hers.
The days preparations are meaningless, a cruel farce where I have no say.
My double wants the red top, so that's what we wear.
I hate red.
She finally walks to the door. My feet freeze just inside the room as she goes through and shuts the door.
The infuriating prickling vanishes, and my hand closes to a fist.
Every day, I suffer through the same routine. Stalking to the chair in the corner, I throw on the jacket lying across the back.
Yes, I'm a reflection. That means following her movements whenever she's around.
I'm not a constant reflection though. I'm stuck in one room! Stuck knowing what I am, and what it's like to have a double who knows what I am.
But this new double is ignorant. She'll never be like Charlotte.
And I'll never be free again.