The name should not have felt so obvious, yet the moment Shemira pulled the finished mask over her face and looked at her reflection in the darkened basement window, it arrived with the same certainty that had accompanied every other revelation tied to her magic.
Corpsemaker.
She stared at the figure reflected back at her.
Somehow, somewhere between scattered sketches and clumsy stitching, the costume had become something far removed from what she had originally envisioned. The dress hung all the way to the floor, layers of dark fabric cascading down in ragged folds that looked more worn by time than by scissors. Black dominated most of it, but streaks of deep green and teal wove through the material in an alluring pattern, catching the light whenever she moved.
It did not resemble anything she had seen on PHO. After all, most capes favored practical costumes, leaning into intimidation or spectacle.
This felt like neither.
The spirit orb bobbed mid-air just over her shoulder, its sickly green flames casting pale illumination across the room. Against the dark fabric, the glow looked almost intentional, as though the costume had been designed around its presence from the beginning.
Perhaps it had.
Shemira turned slightly, the dress moving with her rather than against her. The slits along the sides allowed freedom of movement, while the heavy folds concealed her legs almost entirely when standing still. Combined with the mask and its sweeping horns, the effect was unsettling in a way she doubted photographs would fully capture.
For a brief moment, she almost laughed. Taylor would probably tell her it looked like something out of a fantasy game, and Danny would wonder if she had lost her mind.
The thought brought an unexpected warmth to her chest. Then it faded because standing there, watching her reflection stare back through eyes that no longer needed to be open to see, Shemira realized something.
This was real now.
Up until this point, everything—from researching the ABB, to following the spirit orb, testing her abilities against a handful of criminals, and even designing a costume in the safety of her basement—she had done had been part of preparation. This was commitment.
Once she stepped outside wearing this, she would become part of Brockton Bay's cape scene, whether she intended to or not.
The realization should have frightened her. Instead, she felt strangely calm.
The orb drifted closer, hovering beside her head like a silent crown.
In the reflection, she no longer looked like Annette Hebert. Nor did she look entirely like Shemira either. She looked like something caught between the two. Something new. Something that belonged to neither life completely.
The spirit orb's pupil narrowed.
Shemira reached up and adjusted one of the mask's horns before giving her reflection a final, appraising look.
"Corpsemaker," she murmured.