“Well, another day, another dollar,” I thought as I stared in the mirror. Not that I could see myself; Death doesn’t exactly have a reflection. But Cristina did. She was examining her outfit again and wondered what was missing. Spoilers: it’s her shoes.

She opted for high stilettos that are bound to hurt her feet five minutes out the door. “No pain no gain,” she would convince herself. She looked again in the mirror, unable to see me in the background, but happy with her decision as she walked out of her room and into the night.

Cristina came on my radar this morning as an accident waiting to happen. She wasn’t particularly careful, and her soul contract included a clause about vanity as her demise. The design of this life’s lesson centered around self-acceptance and living freely. Instead, she’s grown vain and self-absorbed. Before starting this life, she inserted a sort of self-destruct into the contract to start over if she strayed too far off the path.

Of course, it was up to me to determine what was considered “too far” off her path. It is exhausting to try and keep up with her internal self-loathing - when I’m exhausted I consider that “too far.” But all the same, she’s violated her soul contract, so she must leave this world to reflect and try again.

I traveled with her to a bar, and despite the cold she didn’t wear a coat, only her skintight, thin, long-sleeved dress. Before entering the bar, she snuck off to an alley and smoked a cigarette. I could tell her feet already hurt, because she alternated on which she stood and leaned again the wall for more support. What she didn’t see, because my cloak cast a deeper shadow over it, was the staircase behind her, and someone left the doors to sidewalk stairs wide open. She hobbled from left to right foot in pain, she stepped back a bit too far over the step’s edge. With gravity working against her, she tumbled backwards.

Now she could see me, and while she did recognize me, confusion set in. I escorted her back to the Reflection Rooms, where she could describe how she failed to achieve the goals she set in her contract, and what emotional tools she would need next time.

I went back to my office, where a completed soul contract waited for me. Calvin, at 93 years old, successfully completed the terms in his soul contract and was now ready to leave.