The Mirror's Reflection

The weight of Sophia's words lingered in Elena's mind, but they did little to quell her obsession. If anything, they only fueled her need for answers. She had to know more—about the mirror, about Mira, about whatever force had drawn her into that vision. There was only one place to start.

The thrift store.

The bell above the door jingled softly as Elena stepped inside, her gaze flicking across the cluttered shelves. The store had an old, musty scent, a mixture of aged wood, worn leather, and something faintly metallic. The place felt frozen in time, as though nothing in it had truly belonged to this world.

She spotted Eleanor Kincaid immediately. The woman was perched behind the counter, arranging a small display of antique jewelry. Her silver hair was pulled into a loose bun, and her sharp blue eyes flicked up the moment Elena stepped closer.

"Back again so soon?" Eleanor mused, her voice carrying the weight of amusement and something else—something knowing. "Not often people return after purchasing something from here."

Elena hesitated, fingers curling around the strap of her purse. "I need to know about the mirror."

Eleanor's hands stilled. For a fraction of a second, a flicker of something crossed her face. Recognition? Fear? Then, just as quickly, she smoothed her expression and folded her arms.

"What about it?" she asked lightly, but her gaze was too intense for the question to be casual.

Elena exhaled sharply. "I see things in it. Visions. A woman who looks exactly like me. I—" She swallowed, lowering her voice. "I was inside one of them. I need to understand what's happening to me."

Eleanor studied her for a long moment. Then, with a small sigh, she gestured toward a door behind the counter. "Come with me."

Elena followed her into a dimly lit back room filled with even more antiques—furniture draped in dust covers, stacks of old books, paintings leaning haphazardly against the walls. At the center of the room was a worn wooden table, covered in scattered papers, faded photographs, and a single unlit candle.

Eleanor pulled out a chair and motioned for Elena to sit. "The mirror," she began, her voice softer now, "has a history far older than this store, older than you or me."

Elena leaned forward, heart hammering. "Tell me."

Eleanor lit the candle with a match, the tiny flame casting eerie shadows across her face. "It was crafted in the late 1800s by a man named Victor LaMont. A gifted artisan, but also a man tormented by grief. His wife, Isadora, died suddenly, and in his desperation to keep her close, he poured his soul into the creation of that mirror."

Elena shivered. "He believed it could bring her back?"

Eleanor nodded. "But mirrors... mirrors are portals, Elena. They reflect not just our images but the deepest parts of ourselves. What Victor created was not a gateway to the dead, but something far more dangerous. A prison."

Elena's fingers tightened around the edge of the table. "A prison for what?"

Eleanor's gaze darkened. "For her."

The room felt colder. "Mira?"

Eleanor gave a slow nod. "The woman in the mirror is not a ghost, nor is she simply a reflection. She is a remnant, a fragment of something that should have never been. Over the decades, the mirror has passed through many hands, each owner claiming to see visions—echoes of lives they never lived. Some say Mira is a lost soul. Others believe she is something far worse."

Elena's pulse quickened. "Why did you sell it to me?"

Eleanor's lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn't choose you, Elena. The mirror did."

A chill ran down her spine. "What does it want from me?"

Eleanor hesitated before answering. "That, my dear, is something only you can uncover. But be warned—Mira is not simply showing you these visions for nothing. She has a purpose. And if she has chosen to reveal herself to you, then she believes you are part of it."

Elena swallowed hard. "How do I stop this?"

Eleanor sighed. "Some would say the mirror must be destroyed, but that is easier said than done. Others would say to abandon it. But, Elena... you have already looked too long. The mirror has claimed you now."

The room seemed to shrink around her, the candle's flame flickering wildly as if it too had been unsettled by the conversation. Elena knew she should walk away, heed Eleanor's warning.

But deep inside, she knew the truth.

She wasn't ready to let go.