Chapter I : The Mirror that I Bought

It was a rainy afternoon when the package finally arrived—a long, flat box wrapped tightly in brown paper, slightly worn at the corners like it had traveled further than the seller ever admitted.

The mirror.

Ancient-looking. Ornate gold trim, laced with floral engravings that time had tried and failed to erode. The glass had that old-world shimmer, like it remembered everything it had ever reflected. It was beautiful. It was cheap. It was too good to be true.

I dragged a chair to the center of my room, balancing carefully as I worked to install it onto my ceiling—right above my bed. My fingers trembled slightly, but not from the effort. Just… anticipation, maybe. I liked the strange charm it brought to the space. Vintage. Dreamy. Aesthetic.

Click.

It was in place. Perfectly aligned. I stepped down from the chair and stared up at it, admiring how the light danced on the glass.

A little eerie, sure. But aesthetic wins, right?

I flopped onto my bed with a small sigh of satisfaction, still looking up.

And for a brief moment—

Just a flicker—

My reflection didn’t move with me.

I narrowed my eyes at the slight glitch but brushed it aside as a mere trick of my eyes.

After discarding the trash, I made my way towards my bed, sitting down against the headboard reading a book as usually.

Books have always been my greatest friend, Not the academic one though.

Soon enough, The Day started to worn out and the quiet darkness of the night took over, Creating that calm yet chilling atmosphere.

The rain hadn’t stopped yet. It whispered against my windows like a quiet warning, but I was too immersed in the pages of my book to listen. The light from my lamp cast a warm pool around me, leaving the rest of the room to shadows.

The mirror above stayed still.

Silent.

Watching.

But not reflecting.

Every now and then, I glanced up instinctively. Maybe to check my hair. Maybe just out of habit. But what I didn’t realize—not truly, not yet—was that my reflection hadn’t once looked down.

It was still.

Frozen.

And curled up in the corner of the mirrored ceiling like a weeping child, knees pulled to chest, eyes shadowed under messy hair.

Except I wasn’t curled up.

I wasn’t crying.

And I wasn’t wearing that faded gown the mirror showed.

Yet, the figure remained.

One night in, and already the room wasn’t mine alone anymore.

An hour or so passed before the weight of words grew heavy in my hands. I placed the book gently on the table, the final page still whispering to my thoughts. With a tired sigh, I slid beneath the blanket’s embrace, the world around me softening into hush and shadow.

My eyes wandered upward, catching the mirror above.

There I was—reflected and real—smirking to myself as I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear, a playful little gesture, as if I sought to charm the ghost of myself. The glass shimmered faintly in the low light, and for a moment, I stayed there, gazing...

Flirting with my own illusion.

Sleep came slowly, wrapping me in silence. My breath grew quiet, even, dream-bound. I closed my eyes, unaware—blissfully so—that the mirror did not hold just me.

There was another.

It had been there from the beginning.

In the mirror’s frame…

Where shadows grew teeth.

Where something waited, unseen—its presence leaking out in the form of a darkness far too still, too shaped to be innocent.

And though I paid it no mind, it saw me.

It watched as I drifted into sleep.

And it smiled.

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