The first time Elara saw the mirror, she thought it was a trick of the light. It stood in the corner of the attic, covered in dust and cobwebs, its silver frame warped at the edges. She had been searching for old photographs when she stumbled upon it, the wooden floor creaking beneath her feet as she brushed away the debris. The glass was fogged, but as she wiped it clean, something strange happened—her reflection didn’t move. She blinked, expecting to see her own face staring back, but instead, the figure in the mirror smiled slowly, tilting its head as if watching her. Elara stepped back, heart pounding, but the mirror remained still. When she looked again, it was just her own reflection, confused and slightly alarmed. She told herself it was a trick of the mind, a product of exhaustion after a long day of cleaning. But the mirror kept appearing. Every time she entered the attic, it seemed more present, as though it had been waiting for her. The more she looked into it, the more details she noticed—the faint glint of a different sky behind her reflection, a shadow that moved when she didn’t. One night, she tried to speak to it. “Hello?” she whispered. The mirror rippled like water, and the figure in it responded, mouthing words she couldn’t understand. The air around her grew colder, and the sound of distant whispers filled the room. Curiosity overpowered fear. She began spending hours in the attic, studying the mirror, testing its boundaries. She found that when she reached out, her hand passed through the glass, only to be met with a soft resistance. The other side felt real, like stepping into a different version of the same room. She saw things that shouldn’t have been there—a clock ticking backward, a book open to a page she hadn’t read, a window that led to a forest she had never seen. One evening, she discovered a hidden compartment in the mirror’s frame. Inside was a small journal, its pages filled with entries written in a language she couldn’t read, but the illustrations were clear. They showed a city of floating buildings, people with hollow eyes, and a great door that pulsed like a heartbeat. At the bottom of the last page was a message: *“Beware the bridge between worlds. It is not meant to be crossed.”* Elara became obsessed. She spent days researching the mirror, trying to find any record of its origin. She searched old books, spoke to historians, even visited the local library, but no one had ever heard of it. It was as if the mirror had always been there, unnoticed, waiting for someone to find it. Then came the dreams. In them, she walked through a world that was both familiar and foreign. She saw herself standing before the mirror, but the version of her in the dream was different—older, wearier, with a look of deep sorrow in her eyes. The mirror called to her, not with words, but with a feeling, a pull that made her soul ache. She woke up each morning with a sense of loss, as if she had forgotten something vital. One night, she decided to cross the threshold. She placed her hand on the glass, feeling the cold seep into her skin, and stepped forward. The world around her shifted. The attic was gone, replaced by a vast, empty space where the sky was a deep violet and the stars moved in patterns that defied logic. She turned and saw the mirror behind her, now much larger, its frame glowing faintly. A voice echoed in her mind, not spoken aloud but felt. *“You are not the first. You will not be the last.”* The words sent a shiver down her spine, but she wasn’t afraid. She had come too far to turn back. She wandered through this strange place, encountering others who had crossed the bridge before her. They were lost, trapped between realities, their faces etched with longing. As she explored, she realized the mirror was not just a portal—it was a boundary, a thin line separating one world from another. And somewhere beyond that line, a choice awaited her. To stay, to wander, or to return. But as she stood at the edge of the unknown, she wondered: what if the mirror was not meant to be used, but to be understood? What if the true danger was not crossing, but forgetting where you came from? And then, as if answering her thoughts, the mirror began to ripple again. This time, it did not show her reflection. It showed nothing at all.