The Mirror's Reflection

Elena couldn't get Mira out of her head. Every time she closed her eyes, the vision replayed—the identical scar, the cryptic smile, the silent plea: Remember.

She had spent the entire night tossing and turning, her thoughts tangled in the enigma of the mirror. Who was Mira? Why did she look exactly like her? What was she supposed to remember? The questions gnawed at her, keeping her trapped in an endless loop of uncertainty.

By morning, exhaustion weighed heavy on her, but she couldn't let it go. She found herself drawn to the mirror, checking it compulsively, half-expecting Mira to be there every time she looked. But for most of the day, the reflection remained normal—disappointingly so.

Yet, deep down, Elena knew it wasn't over. The mirror was waiting.

That evening, she sat on the couch, absentmindedly stirring a cup of tea that had long gone cold. The flickering candle on the coffee table cast shifting shadows against the walls. Her apartment felt quieter than usual, as though the air itself held its breath.

She turned her gaze toward the mirror in her bedroom. It was barely visible from her seat, but its presence pressed against her awareness like a whisper at the back of her mind.

Go to it.

The thought came unbidden, but it wasn't entirely her own. It felt... planted. Urgent.

Slowly, Elena rose, her body moving on instinct. The floor creaked beneath her as she made her way into the bedroom, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears. The mirror stood still, its surface reflecting the dim candlelight from the other room.

She hesitated. Then, gathering her courage, she stepped in front of it.

For a moment, there was nothing.

And then—the ripple.

Mira emerged, but this time, she wasn't just a vague figure in the background. She was fully formed, as vivid as if she were standing in the room with Elena. But something was different.

Mira wasn't alone.

The scene in the mirror had changed. It was no longer a reflection of Elena's bedroom, but a completely different setting—a grand dining room bathed in warm candlelight. A long table stretched before her, set with ornate plates, gleaming silverware, and crystal glasses filled with deep red wine.

At the head of the table sat Mira.

She looked breathtakingly poised, dressed in an elegant black gown, her dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable. The candlelight flickered against her skin, casting soft shadows across her delicate features. And then, without breaking eye contact, she reached for her wine glass and took a slow sip.

Elena's breath caught in her throat. She wasn't just seeing this—she was there, watching through the mirror as though peering into another world.

Mira set the glass down and tilted her head, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. She gestured toward the empty chair across from her.

An invitation.

Elena's fingers trembled as she reached out, her palm hovering just above the glass. Every part of her screamed to stop, to turn away—but she couldn't. She had to know. With a deep breath, she pressed her fingertips against the surface.

A shock of cold shot up her arm, and before she could react, the world around her shifted.

The bedroom dissolved.

She was no longer standing in her apartment.

She was in the dining room.

The air smelled of aged wood and candle wax. The hum of faint music drifted in from somewhere unseen. Elena's body tensed as she looked around, her heart hammering in her chest. This was real. She could feel the weight of the chair beneath her, the warmth of the candlelight against her skin.

Mira studied her with an unreadable expression, her fingers tracing the rim of her wine glass. "You came," she murmured, her voice smooth and rich, carrying an unsettling familiarity.

Elena swallowed hard. "Where am I?"

Mira's smirk deepened. "Where you've always belonged."

The words sent a shiver through her. "I don't understand."

Mira leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "You will."

Elena's grip tightened on the edge of the table. She wanted to run, to wake up, to leave—but the dining room held her captive. And deep down, she wasn't sure she wanted to escape.

Not yet.