She has Mal's face and eyes, her smile, her accent, her turn of phrase. She has Mal's body, her gestures, her walk, her hairstyle, and fashion sense.

She doesn't have Mal's grace, the mischievous glint that Mal would get in her eyes, her laugh, her words.

She has Mal's hatred, but not her love. Her anger, her ruthlessness, but not her mercy, not her joy.

She is Mal in all the ways that don't matter.

Mal was lovely – bright, larger than life, unthinkingly cruel at times, unstintingly generous at others. She was witty, and smart, and so, so selfish. She liked to be spoiled, and believed she should always have what she wanted. But she also believed that the people she loved should always have what they wanted. It was impossible, after meeting Mal, not to fall a little bit in love.

This Mal, this projection, she only lives for vengeance and punishment. She exists because Dom hates himself now, and believes that Mal should too.

Mal lived for laughter, for knowledge, sometimes for spite, but mostly for love. She lived for Dom, for the game, for Philippa, for the con, for James, for the hell of it. She lived. Until she didn't.