Every once in a while, when Penny glimpses her reflection -- in a mirror, glass panes, the windows that separate stores from the streets -- and comes to a complete stop. There’s this reaction she has she doesn’t know how to name (another feeling, perhaps? of human likeness?) when she sees her face, when she moves her fingers and sees Reflection!Penny move her own. She tries to name it, but it’s like her comprehension sensors just freeze up, unable to pinpoint an exact definition for what she’s experiencing.
Which is why on this particular day she can be seen staring intently into the glass of a store window, one palm flat against the glass and her head tipped to the side, oblivious to the looks she’s getting as she watches her own pupils dilate.
