Chapter Three: Beneath the Skin

---

Elira didn’t leave her room the next morning.

She sat curled on the edge of her bed, watching the faint light slip through the curtains, her fingers clutched tight around the silver chain of her necklace — the one her grandmother gave her, the one she never took off.

Her pillow was still damp from the night before.

Ashkar hadn’t moved since she woke. He stood with his back to her, motionless as ever, facing the mirror like it whispered only to him.

The silence was unbearable.

“Elira,” he said quietly, without turning, “the more you fear her, the stronger she becomes.”

“I’m not afraid,” she said, but her voice cracked.

Ashkar didn’t call her out on the lie.

He simply raised his hand and touched the glass with his fingertips. The mirror didn’t ripple, but the light around it dimmed — like the air was pulling inward, listening.

“She’s learning your rhythms,” he said. “How you speak. How you move. How to exist as you.”

“I know.”

“She’ll keep trying.”

“I know.”

Elira stood suddenly, fists clenched. “Why does she want me? There are other mirrors in the world. Other girls. Why me?”

Ashkar finally turned.

And his eyes — always glowing, always unreadable — looked almost soft.

“Because you were the first to see her and not turn away.”

---

Later, Elira showered with the bathroom mirror covered by a towel.

It didn’t help.

She still felt her reflection watching.

Still felt a heartbeat that wasn’t hers pulse behind the glass.

When she stepped out, the towel had slipped down halfway, revealing a streak of condensation across the surface — like someone had dragged fingers down the inside of the mirror.

Five lines.

Like claw marks.

---

She skipped breakfast. Her parents weren’t home — again.

They never were when it mattered.

Her dad had left a sticky note on the fridge:

Out of town until Monday. Left some money on the counter. Stay safe.

Her mother hadn’t left anything at all.

Elira didn’t care. The quiet had long since become its own language. Familiar. Cold.

She returned to her room and found Ashkar gone.

Not just out of sight — gone.

For the first time since the summoning, he wasn’t in the mirror or the corners of her vision. He wasn’t watching from the windowsill or the wall.

His absence pressed in like gravity.

She sat down in the middle of her floor, cross-legged, hands shaking.

And whispered, “Ashkar?”

Nothing.

She said it again. Louder.

Still nothing.

Then a third time, just above a whisper — like a prayer.

> “Ashkar…”

The mirror flickered once. Then stilled.

She was alone.

---

Elira spent the day trying to write — anything to take her mind off the silence. A story, a letter, even a list of things she hated. But no words stayed on the page. Her handwriting blurred. Her thoughts felt like static.

By sunset, she gave up and turned on her lamp.

That’s when she heard it.

A sound from downstairs.

Not the echo of the house settling.

Not a branch scratching the window.

A footstep.

Followed by another.

Soft, deliberate.

Slow.

Elira’s breath caught in her throat.

She stood up, heart thudding, and stepped to the door.

Held her breath.

Listened.

More steps. Not rushed. Not searching.

Just walking.

And then…

A voice.

Her voice.

> “Ashkar…”

Elira’s blood turned to ice.

She hadn’t spoken.

And Ashkar was gone.

That meant…

She wasn’t alone.

--

Elira didn’t move.

She stood in front of her bedroom door, frozen. That voice — her voice — echoed faintly up from downstairs. It wasn’t screaming. It wasn’t even loud.

It was calm.

Soft.

Almost curious.

> “Ashkar… where are you?”

Her chest tightened. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. That voice didn’t come from her lips — but it was hers.

Perfectly hers.

She pressed her hand to the door and leaned in closer.

Another sound followed — laughter.

Light. Familiar.

And wrong.

Not just because it wasn’t her. But because she hadn’t laughed like that in years. Not since before her grandmother died. Not since the last time someone had looked her in the eye and said, I see you.

The sound of that long-dead version of herself laughing in the dark made her skin crawl.

She opened the door.

Slowly.

---

The hallway stretched out before her, dimly lit by a flickering wall sconce. The light overhead buzzed faintly — off-beat, like a skipping heartbeat.

The house smelled strange.

Not burning. Not rotten.

But metallic.

Like blood.

Like glass.

She took one step. Then another.

Each board creaked beneath her feet, but the rest of the house stayed unnaturally still.

No wind.

No rain.

No sound — until she reached the top of the stairs.

Then she heard it again.

Her own voice.

Humming.

A tune she hadn’t sung since she was eight.

Something simple. Something innocent.

Now it felt like a curse.

---

Elira’s breath came in short gasps as she descended the stairs. Her fingers brushed the railing — cold as ice — and she winced, pulling back.

A voice spoke again from the living room.

> “Ashkar, I’m not mad. Just lonely.”

Elira’s knees went weak.

The thing was talking to him.

Like it knew him.

Like it believed it had the right to speak his name.

She stepped onto the last stair, careful not to make a sound.

Then crept around the corner into the living room.

And stopped.

the lights were off

but the TV was on

> Then crept around the corner into the living room. And stopped.

---

No sound. Just static. Gray, flickering snow that bathed the room in a cold glow.

And in front of the screen sat a girl.

Her back to Elira.

Still.

Too still.

Her silhouette was familiar — impossibly so.

The curve of her shoulders.

The way her hair fell slightly to the left.

The slight bend in her spine, like she'd been carrying something too heavy for too long.

It was Elira.

But not.

---

Elira swallowed hard, her throat dry.

The girl sat cross-legged, her fingers resting gently in her lap, palms up. Not twitching. Not fidgeting. Just waiting.

Like a doll left in the wrong place.

Elira took a shaky step forward.

The floor didn’t creak.

> “What do you want?” she whispered.

The girl didn’t move. Not at first.

Then, slowly, her head tilted — not back to look, but sideways. Like she was listening to a sound only she could hear.

The voice that answered came in a perfect echo.

> “To be remembered.”

Elira froze.

> “You don’t belong here,” she whispered.

The girl finally turned her head just enough for her cheek to be visible — and smiled.

Too wide.

Too calm.

Too empty.

> “Neither do you.”

---

A flicker of movement.

The girl began to rise.

Slowly.

Her joints didn’t bend right. Her knees popped. Her spine extended slightly too far.

Elira took a step back.

The girl took one forward.

The room felt colder.

The static on the TV buzzed louder.

> “You summoned him,” the reflection said softly. “You cracked the mirror. You invited me.”

> “No. I didn’t mean to—”

> “You meant it,” she whispered. “You begged to be seen. Now I see everything.”

---

Suddenly the reflection tilted her head then disappeared

---

Elira backed away from the mirror, her spine pressed to the door.

> “Replacement,” she repeated. “What does that mean? That she takes my place?”

Ashkar didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he looked at her the way someone might look at a candle flickering in the dark — something small, but sacred. Something fading.

> “Mirrors,” he said finally, “are not passive things. They’re portals. Invitations. And when you offered your heart to the glass… it didn’t just reflect you.”

Elira swallowed hard. “It created her?”

“No,” he said. “It gave her the permission to step forward.”

He paced behind the glass now, agitated. His form seemed tired

End of chapter 3 😣

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***