The road to Blackthorn Manor wound like a serpent through the jagged hills, its edges veiled in thick, silvery mist. Vivian Stone tightened her grip on the wheel as her car’s headlights sliced through the darkness, illuminating ancient oaks that seemed to lean closer with every turn. Her chest felt as heavy as the duffel bag on the seat beside her, filled with tools of her trade—brushes, solvents, and a set of chisels she’d inherited from her late father. But for all her expertise in repairing history’s scars, she couldn’t shake the gnawing sense that she was driving straight into one.

The villagers had called her foolish for coming here. “The mirror doesn’t need restoration,” the old innkeeper had told her, his voice barely above a whisper. “It needs to stay broken. Some things are better that way.”

Vivian had dismissed his warning with the same practiced indifference she applied to all her jobs. Superstition didn’t pay the bills. Her career had been built on bringing life back to forgotten relics. She had worked on priceless canvases, ancient manuscripts, and even the shattered remains of a stained-glass window said to have survived the Great Fire of London. An obsidian mirror would be no different—or so she told herself.

As the manor came into view, her confidence faltered.

Blackthorn Manor loomed in the distance like a beast waiting to devour the moonlight. Its spires pierced the low-hanging clouds, and its stone façade was pocked with time and weather. No lights glowed in the windows, yet the air around it seemed alive, pulsing with an unnatural energy that made her skin prickle.

Vivian parked at the base of the long, winding driveway, her car’s engine sputtering to silence. She stepped out into the cold night, clutching her coat tight around her. The silence here was suffocating, broken only by the distant rustle of leaves and the occasional cry of an unseen bird.

“Miss Stone.”

The voice startled her. She spun around to find a man standing near the iron gate, his silhouette sharp against the mist. Tall and broad-shouldered, he exuded a quiet authority that made her uneasy. His black coat billowed slightly in the wind, and his face was shadowed under the brim of a wide-brimmed hat.

“You must be Sebastian Veyne,” she said, composing herself.

“I am,” he replied, stepping closer. His face came into focus under the weak moonlight—a striking visage of sharp cheekbones, dark stubble, and piercing green eyes that seemed to see straight through her. He tipped his hat. “Welcome to Blackthorn Manor. I trust the journey wasn’t too troubling?”

“Not at all,” Vivian lied, though the tightness in her jaw betrayed her.

Sebastian’s lips curved into the faintest smile. “Good. Shall we?”

He turned and pushed open the iron gate, its rusted hinges groaning like an old wound. Vivian hesitated before following, feeling as though she were crossing an invisible threshold into something she couldn’t quite name.

Inside, the grounds were overgrown, the gardens overtaken by wild ivy and thorns that seemed to reach for her ankles. The air smelled of damp earth and decay.

“Blackthorn has seen better days,” Sebastian remarked, as if reading her thoughts.

“And the mirror?” she asked, eager to shift the conversation.

His smile faded. “It waits.”

They entered the manor through a set of massive oak doors, which creaked under their weight. The air inside was cold and thick with the scent of mildew and old wood. Candles flickered in sconces along the walls, their flames casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance of their own accord.

“This way,” Sebastian said, leading her through a labyrinth of hallways. The house felt alive, its walls breathing, its silence pressing in on her ears.

When they finally reached the study, Vivian’s breath caught.

The obsidian mirror stood at the center of the room, taller than she had imagined, its frame ornate with carvings that seemed to shift as she stared at them. The glass itself was impossibly dark, swallowing the weak candlelight and reflecting nothing back at her.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, though the word felt wrong.

Sebastian stood beside her, his voice low. “Beautiful… and dangerous.”

Vivian turned to him, a sharp retort on her lips, but stopped. His expression had changed—his confident demeanor was gone, replaced by something that looked almost like fear.

“The mirror isn’t just an object, Miss Stone,” he said, his voice barely audible. “It’s a door. And doors… are meant to stay closed.”

For a moment, the room felt impossibly still. Then, from the corner of her eye, Vivian thought she saw movement in the glass—a flicker of something too quick to name. She turned, but the surface was empty, as dark and impenetrable as before.

“Did you see that?” she asked.

Sebastian’s eyes never left the mirror. “You’ll see much more before this is over.”

The weight of his words settled heavily in her chest, and for the first time in her career, Vivian wondered if she had made a mistake.

To be continued...

The mirror seemed alive in the flickering candlelight. Vivian could feel its presence in the room—its heavy, unrelenting pull—like a thousand invisible strings were tethered to her. She had restored dozens of artifacts in her career, some older than this one, some far more intricate. But none had ever unnerved her like this.

“Do you often hire restorers for cursed objects?” she asked, attempting to mask the tremor in her voice with sarcasm.

Sebastian smirked faintly but didn’t respond. Instead, he walked to the far corner of the room and poured a glass of amber liquid from a crystal decanter. His movements were deliberate, calm, as if he were trying to avoid stirring the air around the mirror.

“Whiskey?” he asked, holding the glass toward her.

Vivian shook her head. “I don’t drink on the job.”

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he sipped. “You might reconsider, given the nature of this particular job.”

Her irritation flared. “Look, Mr. Veyne, if you brought me here to scare me off, you’ve wasted your time. I’ve dealt with plenty of so-called ‘haunted’ artifacts before. The stories are always the same—local legends, tragic deaths, curses passed through whispers. But in the end, they’re just stories. The mirror is old, yes, but it’s still just glass and stone. I’m here to do a job, and I intend to finish it.”

Sebastian’s smile faded. He stepped closer, the playful glint in his eyes replaced by something far colder. “Tell me, Miss Stone, have you ever questioned why you’re so good at your work?”

The question caught her off guard. “Excuse me?”

“Your reputation precedes you. You’ve restored pieces others have abandoned as unsalvageable. But why is that? Why do your hands always seem to bring back what’s been lost?”

Vivian stiffened. “Talent. Training. Years of experience.”

“And luck?” he asked, his tone casual but his gaze unyielding.

Her jaw tightened. “I don’t believe in luck.”

“Then you should consider starting.”

Before she could respond, he turned and left the room, leaving her alone with the mirror.

Vivian let out a slow, shaky breath. She hadn’t realized she’d been holding it. Her pulse was still racing, though she couldn’t decide if it was from Sebastian’s words or the oppressive presence of the mirror.

She approached it cautiously, setting her restoration kit on the table beside it. Up close, the carvings along the frame were even more intricate than she’d imagined. Twisting vines intertwined with the shapes of serpents, their eyes made of tiny, glinting rubies. She traced a finger along one of the patterns, marveling at the craftsmanship.

“Glass and stone,” she whispered to herself. But as her fingers hovered near the surface of the mirror, she hesitated. There was something wrong about it—something she couldn’t quite name.

“Just start,” she muttered, shaking off the unease.

Vivian unpacked her tools and began her work. She dusted the frame, her brush revealing the deep onyx sheen of the carvings. But the glass itself resisted her touch. No matter how much she cleaned, it remained opaque, swallowing the light instead of reflecting it.

The more she worked, the stranger the room seemed to grow. The shadows cast by the candles seemed longer than they should have been, stretching toward her like reaching fingers. And the silence—thick and heavy—felt as though it were pressing against her ears.

And then she saw it.

At first, she thought it was a trick of the light. But as she leaned closer, her breath fogging the surface of the glass, there it was again—a flicker of movement in the mirror.

Her reflection wasn’t moving.

Vivian froze, her heart hammering in her chest. The woman in the mirror—her—was standing completely still, even as Vivian leaned forward to inspect it.

Then the reflection tilted its head.

Vivian stumbled back, nearly knocking over her stool. Her reflection remained in the glass, head cocked, staring at her with unblinking eyes.

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “This isn’t real.”

She turned to look behind her, at the room itself, as if expecting someone else to be there. But the room was empty, save for the flickering candles. When she looked back at the mirror, her reflection was normal.

Vivian swallowed hard. She reached for the glass again, her fingers trembling. This time, when her fingertips brushed the surface, it felt wrong—too cold, too alive. The chill seemed to seep into her skin, spreading through her veins like ice.

A whisper drifted through the room.

“Vivian…”

Her name, spoken so faintly she almost thought she’d imagined it. But the sound wasn’t in her ears—it was in her mind, curling around her thoughts like smoke.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, her voice louder than she intended.

No response.

Vivian stepped back from the mirror, her chest rising and falling rapidly. This wasn’t just some broken artifact. This was something else—something worse.

She grabbed her tools and shoved them into her bag, ready to leave the room. But as she turned toward the door, it slammed shut on its own.

The whisper came again, louder this time.

“Vivian… you’re not supposed to be here.”

To be continued...

Vivian’s pulse thundered in her ears as the door rattled on its hinges, the sound echoing through the room. She grabbed the handle and twisted hard, but it wouldn’t budge. The thick oak felt as immovable as the stone walls surrounding it.

“Sebastian!” she yelled, her voice cracking. “This isn’t funny! Open the door!”

The whisper came again, curling like smoke in the corners of her mind:

“You’re not supposed to be here…”

Her breath hitched. It wasn’t a voice she recognized—it wasn’t Sebastian. It was softer, colder, and utterly devoid of humanity.

Vivian spun around, her back pressed against the door as her eyes darted toward the mirror. The glass was still dark, swallowing the weak light of the candles, but something felt different. The air in the room was heavier, charged with a static hum that vibrated in her chest.

She stared at her reflection, expecting it to move on its own again. But this time, it stood still, perfectly mirroring her every movement. Slowly, Vivian stepped toward the mirror, her footsteps echoing on the wooden floor.

“This is just my imagination,” she whispered to herself. “It’s the stress. The stories.”

But even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true.

The closer she got to the mirror, the colder the room seemed to grow. Her fingers trembled as she reached out again, stopping just short of the glass. For a moment, nothing happened.

And then the surface of the mirror rippled like water.

Vivian gasped, yanking her hand back. The glass quivered, the dark obsidian surface twisting and bending, as if something beneath it was trying to push through.

“Sebastian!” she screamed again, panic rising in her throat.

The whisper returned, louder now, filling her head until it felt like her skull might split.

“You don’t belong here. Leave… while you still can.”

Vivian stumbled back, clutching her temples as the voice grew louder, more insistent. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the floor, her vision swimming. The room seemed to tilt, the walls bending and warping as if the very house was alive.

Through the haze, she saw movement in the mirror again. But this time, it wasn’t her reflection.

A figure stood on the other side of the glass.

It was impossible to make out any details—it was shrouded in shadow, its form flickering and unstable. But the shape was unmistakably human. It moved closer, its hand pressing against the other side of the glass, and for a moment, Vivian thought it might step through.

Her body screamed at her to run, to do anything but sit there frozen. But her limbs felt heavy, as if the air around her had turned to liquid.

The figure’s hand pressed harder, and a crack formed in the glass, spiderwebbing outward with an earsplitting noise.

“No,” Vivian whispered, her voice barely audible. “This isn’t happening.”

The door behind her burst open with a deafening bang, and she felt a strong hand grab her arm, pulling her to her feet.

“Vivian!”

Sebastian’s voice snapped her out of her trance. She turned to see him standing in the doorway, his face pale but resolute. Without waiting for an explanation, he yanked her out of the room, slamming the door shut behind them.

“What the hell was that?” Vivian demanded, her voice shaking as she tried to catch her breath.

Sebastian didn’t answer right away. His hand was still gripping her arm tightly as he led her down the hallway, his long strides forcing her to keep up.

“Let go of me!” she snapped, wrenching her arm free.

He stopped abruptly and turned to face her, his green eyes blazing. “I told you the mirror wasn’t just an object,” he said, his voice low and sharp. “I warned you.”

“You didn’t tell me it was—” She gestured wildly behind her. “Alive! What the hell is that thing?”

Sebastian ran a hand through his dark hair, his jaw tightening. “The mirror… it’s not just a mirror. It’s a doorway.”

“A doorway to what?”

“To another place,” he said, his voice grim. “A place that doesn’t belong in this world.”

Vivian stared at him, her mind reeling. “You brought me here to fix that thing, and now you’re telling me it’s some kind of… of portal?”

Sebastian’s expression softened slightly, but his tone remained serious. “I brought you here because you’re the best at what you do. And because you’re… connected to it.”

Vivian froze. “What do you mean, ‘connected’?”

He hesitated, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite read. Guilt? Fear? “I don’t have time to explain everything right now. But you need to stay away from that mirror until I figure out how to contain it.”

“Stay away?” she repeated, her voice rising. “You think I’m just going to sit here and pretend I didn’t see—”

“Vivian.” His voice cut through her protests, quiet but commanding. “Please. Trust me on this. The mirror is dangerous, and if you keep working on it, you’ll—”

He stopped himself, his jaw tightening again.

“I’ll what?” she demanded.

He didn’t answer. Instead, he turned and started walking down the hallway again.

“Sebastian!” she called after him, her frustration boiling over. “If you’re not going to tell me what’s going on, I’m leaving. You can find someone else to deal with your cursed mirror!”

He stopped but didn’t turn around. For a long moment, the only sound was the faint creak of the old manor settling around them.

“You can’t leave,” he said finally, his voice soft but laced with an edge.

Vivian’s stomach dropped. “What do you mean, I can’t leave?”

Sebastian turned, his expression unreadable. “Once the mirror has seen you, it doesn’t let go.”

To be continued...