You hear that, Narcissa?

The crowd’s gone quiet.

Klaus doesn’t need music for this act, he knows silence is louder. Just two of us under the lights, surrounded by steel and smoke. And look at that… it almost sparkles, doesn’t it? The bars catch the light like mirrors.

That’s what this cage really is. Not a trap. Not a prison.

A reflection.

You know how I know we’re the Reflection Act, Narcy?

Everywhere I turn, I see pieces of us. You, standing tall, skin flawless, eyes fixed on symmetry. Me, moving, unsteady, too alive for the shape I’m supposed to fit.

Klaus made sure we could see ourselves from every angle, because that’s what he loves most.

Not the fight.

The fracture.

You’ve spent your whole life polishing mirrors, Narcissa. Making sure every reflection you cast looks perfect.

The Designer, the divine, the woman who never cracks. You design control the way he designs chaos: delicate, precise, merciless.

That’s your religion, isn’t it? Perfection as salvation.

But I’ve seen what that does to people.

I’ve seen what it does to you.

Because perfection isn’t creation: it’s confinement. And the second you chip the paint, the whole illusion starts to shake.

I know, because I used to believe in perfection too.

Not the kind you build with lines and symmetry, the kind you try to earn through guilt. I thought if I fought hard enough, helped enough, redeemed enough, maybe Peter would stop seeing a monster who burned a city.

Maybe I’d see someone different in the mirror too.

But no matter what I do, the reflection never changes, does it?

I’m always the villain in someone’s story.

That’s why this cage feels familiar. Because you and I aren’t trapped in here by Klaus, are we?

We’re trapped by what we want the world to believe.

You need them to see beauty. I need them to see good.

And both of us are standing in a box made of what we’re afraid to admit.

You look at me and see chaos. I look at you and see control.

But look closer, Narcissa… really look.

You’re not in control. You’re performing it.

You’re terrified the mirror will crack and they’ll see the woman behind it.

And me? I’ve already cracked. There’s nothing left to hide.

That’s why you can’t beat me.

Not because I’m better. Because I’ve stopped pretending.

When the glass around us starts to break, you’ll be trying to keep your reflection intact.

I’ll be cutting myself on the shards, and smiling through the blood.

Because the truth is, I stopped needing to be clean to be whole. I stopped needing forgiveness to move forward.

You can’t break what already knows it’s broken. And that’s what kills you, Narcissa.

You’ve spent your whole life designing yourself to be untouchable.

But in here, with the lights off and the mirrors closing in, you’re just another reflection waiting to shatter.

And when it’s over, when Klaus’s circus has its grand finale and the crowd sees what’s left of us: they’ll finally see the truth.

You were the illusion.

I was the reflection that survived it.