"Amanda?" he whispered, hoping to somehow communicate with his daughter. There was no response, just the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Frank moved cautiously to the mirror, studying Amanda's reflection. He raised her hand, watching as the girl in the mirror did the same. It was surreal, controlling his daughter's body like some kind of living puppet.
He closed his eyes, trying to center himself. What was he supposed to do now? How long would this last? And most importantly, where was Amanda?
“Wow,” He brought his hands up to his face, “It feels so good to be alive again. Even if I’m …her.”
He flexed Amanda's fingers, marveling at the ability to interact with the physical world once more.
But a nagging worry persisted. Where was Amanda's consciousness? Was she aware of what was happening? Frank closed his eyes, trying to sense any trace of his daughter's presence within her own body. There was nothing but silence.
"Amanda, if you can hear me, please give me a sign," he whispered aloud.
Nothing.
He paced the room, Amanda's bare feet padding softly on the carpet. Each sensation was a marvel—the texture beneath his feet, the slight chill of the air on his skin. Frank found himself torn between exhilaration and shame.
"I'm sorry, Amanda," he whispered, "But I need this. Just for a little while."
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