The pressure on his finger hurts about as much as he expected, but the Mirror's neck in his grasp is worth each and every single stab of pain. How are you here again, why did you come? The question burns at the back of his mind, but it will stay just there, because the Mirror doesn't deserve a chance to explain, he doesn't deserve to use their voice anymore.

What, does it want him to die again, does it want him to owe his Queen another favour? Jealousy, is that it? That she revived him, that he is alive again because of her--

Philip squeezes deeper, feels his nails digging into flesh. That he is the better one of them, that she prefers him now; that her own creature couldn't compare, and if it dies, then it dies for good this time. He bites down on his lip hard, and pushes his thumbs down on the Mirror's neck harder. His left hand shakes, his left hand weakens, and both his arms tremble.

But it will be enough, it has to be enough, and he won't let go, no matter what.