The first time Elara saw the door, it was not there. She had been walking through the old library at the edge of town, a place where dust and forgotten stories clung to every surface. The building was abandoned for years, its windows cracked, its shelves sagging under the weight of time. But that evening, as the sun bled into the sky, she noticed something odd—there was a door where none should be. It stood in the corner of the reading room, a heavy wooden door with iron hinges and a tarnished brass knob. It looked out of place, like a secret waiting to be discovered. Curious, she reached out and turned the handle. The door creaked open without resistance, revealing a narrow hallway lit by flickering sconces. The air smelled of old paper and something else—something sweet and metallic, like blood and ink. She stepped inside. The hallway stretched endlessly in both directions, but she felt drawn forward, as if the floor itself was pulling her. The walls were lined with books, their spines cracked and faded, but when she glanced at them, they seemed to shift slightly, as though rearranging themselves just out of her peripheral vision. At the end of the corridor, a small room opened up. A single chair sat in the center, facing a mirror that reflected nothing but the empty space behind her. She approached cautiously, and as she did, the mirror began to ripple, like water disturbed by a pebble. Her reflection moved before her, but not in sync. It smiled when she frowned, blinked when she didn’t. Then, the mirror showed something else. A version of herself, standing in a different room. This Elara wore a long coat, her hair tied back, her eyes filled with quiet determination. She was speaking to someone unseen, gesturing toward a map on the wall. Then, the image shifted again. Another Elara, older, sitting in a dimly lit study, surrounded by photographs of places Elara had never seen. Each version of herself was different, yet unmistakably her. A voice whispered from the mirror. “You are not the only one.” Elara stumbled back, the mirror returning to its normal state. The hallway seemed to shrink, the walls pressing in. She ran back the way she came, the door now gone, replaced by a blank wall. Panic set in. She tried the door again, but it no longer existed. When she finally escaped the library, the sun had set, and the streets were empty. She returned home, heart pounding, but the next morning, she found a book on her desk. It was titled *The Doors Between*, and the pages were filled with diagrams of doors, each labeled with a different name: "The Door of Echoes," "The Door of Shadows," "The Door of Mirrors." As days passed, Elara began to notice other things. A man in the market who looked exactly like her. A child who played alone in the park, whispering words she could not understand. A cat that followed her, its eyes glowing faintly in the dark. She started to think she was going mad, but the more she searched, the more she realized these were not coincidences. One night, she returned to the library, determined to find the door again. This time, it was there, but the hallway was different. The books were newer, the sconces brighter. In the same small room, the mirror still hung, but this time, it showed a world where everything was inverted—trees grew upside down, people walked on the ceiling, and the sky was a deep violet. She reached out, and the mirror responded. A hand appeared from the other side, touching hers. It was her own hand, but smaller, younger. The voice from before spoke again. “We are all echoes. We are all choices made and unmade.” Before she could ask what it meant, the mirror shattered, and she was thrown back into the real world. The library was gone, the door vanished, and the book on her desk had disappeared. Now, every night, she dreams of the door. Sometimes, she sees her reflection moving without her. Other times, she feels a presence watching her from the mirror. She doesn’t know if she’s lost herself or if she’s finally found something greater. And sometimes, she wonders if the door is still there, waiting for her to return.