the literal “being-in-a-body” horror in pyrrha’s story drives me up the wall. it’s a body she used to love from the outside because she loved the person it belonged to, and now it’s become the cage she can’t escape. she sees a face she loved in the mirror every morning, but it’s still the wrong face. and the body isn’t just a prison, it’s her only means of interacting with the world, of loving other people. her best friend’s hands are the only way she can touch her loved ones. they don’t know what her voice sounds like. it was never supposed to be her body, she wasn’t even supposed to continue existing. he didn’t even know she did. and now his body is hers. but it’s not. do you get it.