Yet, there it was. Direct.
Elara didn't breathe. Behind her, the wardrobe door creaked open. Tv M6 Direct
Behind the TV-Elara, in the reflection of the mirror on her wall, there was a shape. Taller than a person should be, its head brushing the ceiling, its limbs too long, its edges bleeding into the shadows. It was standing exactly where the real wardrobe stood. Yet, there it was
The M6 signal wasn't a channel. It was a direct line. A live feed from a second of the future, a splinter in time maintained by something that needed her alive. The shape in the reflection took a single, silent step toward the TV-Elara. Behind her, the wardrobe door creaked open
The screen went grey again. Then black. Then the faint hum of a truly dead television filled the room.
The word wasn't in a corner or an electronic program guide. It was written into the grey, as if carved by a fingernail on the inside of the glass. Then, the grey parted.
The TV-Elara's lips moved, but no sound came from the set. Instead, a single line of white text scrolled across the bottom, like a news ticker.