The first time Elara saw the mirror, it was in an antique shop tucked between a closed café and a boarded-up bookstore. The shop had no sign, only a dusty window with a single light bulb flickering above the door. She didn’t know why she went in—perhaps the way the light pulsed like a heartbeat, or the faint scent of lavender and old paper that clung to the air. Inside, the shelves were filled with trinkets that seemed out of place: a pocket watch that never ticked, a key without a lock, and a teacup that never cooled. The owner, a man with eyes like polished obsidian, watched her as she wandered. “You’re looking for something,” he said, not asking but stating. Elara frowned. “I don’t think I am.” But the mirror caught her eye—a tall, ornate frame of dark wood, its glass clouded with age. It stood alone on a pedestal, as if waiting. She reached out, and the moment her fingers touched the surface, the world shifted. The shop dissolved into a blur of colors, and when her vision cleared, she was standing in a hallway she didn’t recognize. The walls were lined with mirrors, each one reflecting a different version of herself—some older, some younger, some with eyes that stared back too long. A chill ran down her spine, but she couldn’t look away. In this world, the air was heavier, as though the weight of countless lives pressed against her. The floor beneath her feet was made of smooth stone, cool and unyielding. She heard whispers, not loud, but persistent, like voices just beyond hearing. She turned and found a door at the end of the hall. It opened easily, revealing a room filled with books that floated mid-air, their pages turning by themselves. A figure sat in the center of the room, hunched over a desk covered in ink stains and half-finished letters. When they looked up, Elara gasped. It was her. Or rather, a version of her, with hair the color of midnight and a gaze that held the weight of centuries. “You’ve come back,” the other Elara said, voice calm, almost resigned. “I… I don’t know how I got here,” Elara stammered. “You always do,” the other replied, standing slowly. “You’ve been here before. You just forgot.” Elara’s breath caught. “What are you talking about?” The other Elara gestured to the floating books. “These are your memories. All of them. Every life you’ve lived. Every choice you’ve made. They’re all here, waiting for you to remember.” Elara stepped closer, heart pounding. The books hovered around her, their pages fluttering like restless birds. She reached out, and one drifted toward her, opening to reveal a scene she didn’t recognize—herself walking through a forest under a blood-red sky. Another showed her standing in a city where the buildings twisted like smoke. Each memory felt both foreign and familiar, as if they belonged to someone else, yet somehow, they were hers. “Why am I here?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. The other Elara smiled, a sad, knowing expression. “Because you’re searching. For answers. For purpose. But you’ll never find them unless you face what you’ve left behind.” Before Elara could ask what that meant, the room began to dissolve again. The floating books vanished, the hallway faded, and she was back in the shop, standing in front of the mirror. The owner was gone, and the shop was empty. The mirror still stood there, but now its surface was clear, reflecting her face—but with a strange glint in her eyes, as if she had seen something she wasn’t meant to. She backed away, heart racing. As she stepped out into the street, the city around her felt different. The lights were brighter, the shadows deeper, and every corner seemed to hold a secret. She didn’t know if she had truly traveled to another world, or if it had simply pulled her into something she had always carried within her. But as she walked home, she couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t alone. That somewhere, in a world she couldn’t see, the other Elara was watching, waiting for her to return. And maybe, one day, she would.