It was funny: Despite living in a big city amongst so many diverse people, Tilly had never felt more alone. Maybe it was because she was surrounded by all these people that she felt so isolated. Each day was a stark reminder of how different she was. Every moment she interacted with other people left her feeling inept. Out of her element. Like a defective machine.

Alien. 

Tilly stood alone in her apartment's bathroom, alternating between the mirror and the window. Both offered reflection. The world outside, her world inside. She no longer felt comfortable in either. Lately, whenever she'd look into her own eyes she didn't seem to like what she saw. She'd started criticizing her own features. Was her left eyebrow arched differently from her right? Was her nose crooked? Her lips too thin? Things like that.

And something about her eyes. 

Tilly let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and returned to the window.

The city was alive tonight. She wanted so much to be a part of it. To feel a part of it. To not feel like an other. She sighed again and something from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Her reflection in the mirror. But at her temple—something looked off.

Her face was an inch away from the mirror. Her fingers pulled back her hair so she could get a better look.

Right where her hairline began Tilly could see a slight indentation. She picked at it. She dug her fingernails in, expecting pain but experiencing no feeling at all, not even a little, and peeled off half of her face. Her skin felt like rubber as it hung off the end of her nose, but the worst bit wasn't what you'd expect. There was no blood. No bone, either.

Just shiny silver metal. 

[Scenes from the Mothership, Entry #807-22]