"Jesus fucking Christ."

My heart rate has shot up from its slow, restful thump to the breakneck slam of a rabbit on speed, all in the blink of an eye. For there, perched on the foot of my bed, in a position that can't be good for her knees, is a girl with hair that glows in the dark and eyes of a size that put one in mind of pale things that slurp through the muck at the bottom of the ocean.

I'm already twisting, diving to the floor, searching for the old knife that's seen me through two tours in a place that's better off forgotten, the bleary smear of the world against my tired eyes fixed by the perky grin of the apparition above.

"Who the fuck are you?"

It comes out hoarse, expression scraped out by sleep and life, and twin, flowing locks of hair are silhouetted against the open window as my fingers close around the familiar hilt beneath my bedside table.

"Don't you know, silly?"

Her voice drips with candy and rainbows, a saccharine glimmer beneath the lighthearted words. "You don't recognize me? I thought you'd never forget me. You wished upon a star, once, but... you look... different."

Something pricks at the back of my brain, as I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror - streaks of gray buzzed short, eyes red and cautious, but... something, deep down in there, looks like who I used to be, once upon a time. Flicking through the pages of books, backward, watching a faint, colorful escape dance, on the other side of the glass, in between the cold slam of lockers and the lonely turn of a key in a lock.

And with that, I know, the familiar cock of her head the same, after all these years, from when my fingers pressed against glass and my heart reached out to a figment.

"Silly."

Her eyes bore onto mine, and metal clatters to the floor.

"I'm your waifu."