The first time Elara saw the mirror, it was in a secondhand shop tucked between a closed bakery and a boarded-up library. The shop had no sign, just a dusty window with a single flickering bulb above it. She hadn’t meant to go inside—she was only looking for a forgotten book—but something about the mirror drew her in. It was framed in dark wood, its edges carved with symbols she didn’t recognize, and when she touched it, the glass felt colder than the air around her. The shopkeeper, an elderly man with eyes like polished obsidian, said nothing as he handed her the mirror for a price that made her pause. “It’s not for everyone,” he muttered, before turning back to his ledger. Elara bought it anyway. At home, she placed the mirror in her study, where the light from the window barely reached. At first, it seemed ordinary, just another antique. But after a few nights, she began to notice things. A shadow moving when there was no one else in the room. A whisper of her own voice, though she hadn’t spoken. And then, the reflection. It wasn’t hers. Not exactly. The figure in the mirror looked like her, but her eyes were too wide, her mouth too thin. When she blinked, the reflection blinked twice. When she turned her head, it took a moment longer to follow. She tried covering it with a cloth, but the next morning, the cloth was still on the mirror, and the reflection stared back at her with a faint smile. Curious, she began experimenting. She would speak to it, ask questions. The mirror never answered, but sometimes, the reflection would move in ways that defied logic. Once, when she asked, “What are you?” the mirror showed her a city she’d never seen—tall towers of glass and metal, streets lined with glowing lights, people dressed in strange, flowing garments. Then the image vanished, leaving only the sound of distant thunder. She started to see other things, too. Faint shapes in the corners of her vision, shadows that didn’t match the light. Sometimes, she heard laughter, soft and distant, as if coming from another room. The mirror became a part of her life, a constant presence that she both feared and needed. One evening, she found a small book tucked behind the mirror. It was bound in black leather, its pages yellowed with age. The title was written in a language she couldn’t read, but the illustrations told a story. They showed a woman standing before a mirror, her reflection reaching out to touch her. In the next image, the woman stepped through the glass, and the mirror cracked. The final page depicted the woman trapped in a world of endless reflections, each one slightly different, each one watching. Elara stopped sleeping. She spent hours in front of the mirror, trying to understand what it was showing her. One night, she noticed that the reflection was no longer following her movements. Instead, it stood still, facing away from her. She turned to look, but the room was empty. When she turned back, the mirror was gone. In its place, a door stood where the wall had been. It was made of the same dark wood as the frame, and the same strange symbols ran along its surface. Heart pounding, she reached out and touched it. The door creaked open, revealing a hallway bathed in cold, blue light. The air smelled of rain and old paper. She stepped through. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, its walls lined with mirrors that reflected not her face, but scenes from places she had never seen. A forest of towering trees, their leaves shimmering like silver. A city of floating islands, connected by bridges of light. A desert under twin suns, where the sand moved as if alive. She walked for what felt like hours, until she came to a large room. In the center stood a mirror identical to the one she had left behind. But this one was different. Its surface rippled, like water, and inside, she saw herself—again, but this time, the reflection was smiling. As she approached, the mirror whispered her name. “You’re not supposed to be here,” it said, its voice echoing from everywhere and nowhere. “I don’t understand,” she replied, her voice trembling. “You never did,” the mirror said. “You were never meant to find this.” Before she could ask more, the room began to dissolve, the mirrors shattering into fragments that floated into the air. The hallway disappeared, and she found herself back in her study, the mirror now hanging on the wall as if nothing had happened. But something was different. Her reflection no longer followed her exactly. It moved just a fraction slower, as if waiting for her to catch up. And in the corner of the mirror, a faint shape lingered—a figure standing behind her, watching.