The first time Elara saw the mirror, she thought it was just an old antique in her grandmother’s attic. Dusty and framed in a dark wood that had long since lost its polish, it stood alone in a corner, as if waiting for someone to notice it. She had been searching for old family photos when she stumbled upon it, and something about it felt... off. Not broken, not cracked, but as though it had been watching her. She brushed her fingers over the glass, and for a moment, the reflection didn’t match her movements. Her hand moved, but the image in the mirror seemed to hesitate, as if caught between two realities. When she turned her head, the reflection followed—only it wasn’t quite right. The eyes were too deep, the smile too wide. That night, Elara dreamed of a world where everything was slightly wrong. The trees bent at unnatural angles, the sky shifted colors like oil on water, and the people walked with their heads tilted to one side. She woke up with a strange taste in her mouth, like metal and salt, and a feeling of being watched. She didn’t tell anyone about the mirror. But the next day, she found herself standing in front of it again, drawn by an invisible force. This time, when she looked into the glass, the reflection was different. It was her, but older, with hair streaked with silver and a scar running down her cheek. The woman in the mirror smiled, then reached out—and Elara felt a cold hand brush her own through the glass. She pulled back, heart pounding. That night, she tried to close the attic door, but it wouldn’t stay shut. The wind howled through the house, and the mirror glowed faintly, casting eerie shadows on the walls. She began to see things: a clock that ticked backward, a door that opened into a hallway that led nowhere, and a voice whispering in a language she didn’t understand, yet somehow knew. Elara started keeping a journal, writing down every detail. She described the way the mirror shimmered when no one was looking, the way the air thickened whenever she stood near it, and the dreams that became more vivid each night. In one dream, she saw a version of herself walking through a city made of glass, where the buildings reflected not the sky, but other versions of the same city. She tried to reach out, but the glass shattered before she could touch it. One evening, she returned to the attic, determined to find answers. The mirror was now covered in a fine layer of frost, and the air around it was colder than the rest of the room. As she approached, the reflection changed again. This time, it was a younger version of herself, holding a small, glowing orb. The girl in the mirror pointed to the mirror, then to the orb, then to Elara. A message, unspoken but clear. She reached out, and the mirror rippled like water. The room faded away, replaced by a dimly lit corridor lined with doors. Each door was slightly different from the last—some warped, some missing handles, others sealed with rust. The air was heavy, filled with the scent of old paper and damp earth. Elara stepped forward, her breath shallow, her heart hammering in her chest. At the end of the corridor, there was a single door, larger than the rest, with a brass knob that pulsed faintly. She touched it, and the door creaked open, revealing a vast library filled with books that floated in midair. The shelves stretched beyond sight, and the books whispered softly, their pages turning without a breeze. One book drifted toward her, opening itself to a page that read: *“You are not the first. You will not be the last.”* Elara closed the book gently and turned back, only to find the corridor gone. She was standing in the attic again, the mirror now silent and still. But something was different. The reflection in the mirror was no longer hers. It was a man, tall and solemn, with eyes that held the weight of a thousand lives. She backed away slowly, her hands trembling. The mirror remained empty, but the silence that followed was heavier than anything she had ever known. She didn’t know if she had stepped into another world or if the world had simply stepped into her. All she knew was that she would never look at mirrors the same way again. And somewhere, in a place she could never reach, another version of herself was wondering the same thing.