Misa ignores the doppel's comment completely, grabbing a lock of her hair to stare at it in bewilderment.

"I'm..."

She doesn't finish the thought, eyes landing on the staircase. As good a place to sit as any. Letting her hair slide from her fingers, she grabs Lazarus by the hand and drags him over with her before plopping down on the stairs. The scene in her head, the hair, the two L's— it's a sensory overload. Misa feels like she is going mad.

"I need a mirror," she mumbles, still holding Lazarus's hand in a vice-like grip. It's something concrete to focus on.