She moves her hand. The reflection moves a second after. Buffy's tempted to smash it just to be safe. Smashing would lead to questions, and worse, to a mess. She has enough to deal with. She puts her sheet over the glass. The other mirrors in the house are fine.
The fabric falls, and she stares. The bruises from her tryst with Spike are already fading. The Buffy in the mirror stares back, judging her. That's expected.
She sleeps with the glass uncovered for the first time in months. In her dreams, she hears singing.
"He'll break you," says the mirror. It's her face but not her voice.
Buffy sets down her hairbrush. "Like he broke you?"
Mirror-Buff makes a non-committal sound.
"Dead girls so often are."
Buffy puts the sheet back in place.
She's said her goodbye to him. She doesn't know why she's walking up to the mirror again, why she's pulling away the cover. She doesn't know why she's fogging the glass with her breath.
She can feel her reflection's lips, like cold quicksilver.