Goodnight, Jenna. We have only just begun.
Jenna slammed her palm on the console. “Cut the feed!” impact font bold italic
DO NOT TRUST YOUR REFLECTION. THE MIRROR IS A DOOR. Goodnight, Jenna
Jenna turned. The exit sign glowed red. But beneath it, in that same crushing font, a new message had been stenciled onto the door: in that same crushing font
She looked up. Across the studio, her own face stared back from the dark glass of the camera lens. But it wasn’t her expression.
And the smile was italic.
(Static hiss. The red light blinks off.)