Seven years of bad luck can slurp my ass. It’s been way too long since I punched something, and that vanity had it coming. Stupid mirror. Stupid Yami. Whatever. Mirrors are overrated, and punching them is underrated. I’ve never liked looking at myself anyway. Not because I don’t think I’m cute. I mean, I am cute—objectively—but that’s beside the point. I like this new reflection better. It’s cracked enough that I’m hardly recognizable. Splintered in all the right places. I did that. With my fist. Who says I’m not tough? I don’t run from a fight—as long as it’s with an inanimate object. I didn’t punch the mirror hard enough to shatter it, but the pulsing in my knuckles tells me I hit it pretty hard. My chest swells at the accomplishment, and so does my...
-- Yami (Chapter 1)