The shift in the room was not merely physical; it was a fundamental dissolution of identity. Valeria's face didn't just pale; it began to lose its resolution, the sharp, boreal surface of her lips trembling with a terrifying lack of data.
She reached up to touch her cheek, her fingers passing through a flickering layer of static, a ghost seeking a vessel that no longer belonged to her.
The "Goddess of Mystery" was becoming a mystery even to herself, an author whose ink had been bled dry by a superior editor.
"My name... my identity." she whispered, a sound like ancient paper tearing in the wind.
"I can't... the reference is gone. You've removed the anchor."
She looked at Kairi with eyes that were no longer dead, but hollow—literally empty sockets of unwritten space where a soul used to be.
For a moment, the existential weight of the "de-authorship" seemed to break her.
