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A person with long dark hair, wearing a black deep V-neck dress, looks at their reflection in an ornate mirror.

A person with long dark hair, wearing a black deep V-neck dress, looks at their reflection in an ornate mirror.

They stand in front of the mirror—not to seek approval, but to reclaim it. Their hair might be long and flowing, shaved and slick, messy and wild, or wrapped in a scarf like armor. Their eyes—sharp, tired, gleaming—carry years of hiding and moments of truth. A name hangs on their lips. Not the name written on old documents like a curse, but the one they chose, the one that fits like a heartbeat. Their body? Ah, it tells a story in skin and sinew: Maybe there's stubble where society said there shouldn’t be. Maybe their chest is flat, or wrapped, or proud and round. Maybe their hips still echo a shape that never felt like home. Maybe there are fresh scars or fading ones—surgical or emotional. Maybe they glow with hormones—testosterone sharpening edges, or estrogen softening the frame. Or maybe they’ve never taken a single pill, but every step they take is transition. Clothes drape over their truth—not hiding, not performing—just being. You see a woman, maybe. Or a man. Or neither. Or both. But they see themselves, and that’s the real triumph. See more