The Wolf Woman & the Wildman - Walking Through the Hall of Mirrors

You step into the room. Or maybe you were never outside of it. Either way, the mirrors are everywhere.

Some show you your face, but slightly off—an eyebrow arched in a way you never intended, a smirk that isn’t yours, an absence where your presence should be. Other mirrors don’t reflect you at all. They show an expectation. A projection. A contour assigned before you ever entered the frame.

You know this room. You have lived inside it. It is the place where you are asked, without words, to carry something that is not yours. The weight of disowned parts—the discarded feminine, the rejected masculine, the ghost of something someone refuses to see in themselves.

You move, and in the reflection, two figures flicker. One you almost recognize. The other… you sense you have felt before.

One moves like mist—always present, never held. The Wolf Woman—a whisper at the edges, keeper of what has been forgotten, singing over what the world has tried to erase. She gathers the bones, waiting for the moment to bring them back to life. A presence unseen, yet always felt.

The other stands like a stratovolcano itself—rooted, smoldering, untamed. The Wildman—the force buried under caution, instinct hidden beneath an involuntary weight. A presence too large for the walls that try to hold him.

They do not speak, yet their silence presses: how long have you been standing here, waiting for the mirrors to show you who you are?

You take a step. The reflections waver. It’s… not… them—only the glass.

Another step. A slight turn. A widening glance.

And suddenly, the game is over.

The trickster tricked. The spell broken. The tightness pierced. The walls dissolve.

Revealing nothing but air. Nothing but ground beneath your feet.

Nothing but you.

The Wolf Woman was never meant to be forgotten. The Wildman, never meant to be exiled. And you—oh, you—were never meant to hold the weight of what others could not face.

The provocateur can keep their own shadow. The projections can fall to the floor. And you are free—free to step through the mirror, free to walk forward without distortion, free to remember.

The world does not need another silenced knowing. It does not need another exile.

It needs presence. It needs wholeness.

It needs you.

And here you are.