The sun hung low in the sky as Martín made his way through the narrow, winding streets of the old city. Alejandro's directions had led him deep into a part of town he rarely visited, a place where the cobblestones seemed to remember the footsteps of countless generations. Here, the past felt alive, woven into the fabric of the present, creating a sense of time out of joint.
He clutched the piece of paper with the address tightly in his hand, the name written there echoing in his mind: Isabel Morán. Alejandro had warned him that she was not like anyone he had ever met, that her methods might challenge his understanding of reality even further. But Martín was past the point of turning back. The events of the past few days had shattered his perception of the world, and he was desperate for anything that might bring clarity.
Finally, he reached the building. It was an old, weathered structure, its stone walls covered in creeping ivy, with windows that seemed to stare out like the eyes of a watchful sentinel. The wooden door creaked as he pushed it open, and Martín stepped into a small, dimly lit hallway that smelled faintly of incense and age.
A bell chimed softly somewhere in the depths of the house, and moments later, a woman appeared from a side room. She was older than Martín had expected, her long gray hair pulled back into a loose braid, and her dark eyes sharp and knowing. She wore a simple dress, the kind that might have been fashionable decades ago, but her presence commanded attention.
"You must be Martín," she said, her voice warm yet firm, as if she already knew everything about him. "Alejandro told me you might come. Please, follow me."
Without waiting for a response, she turned and led him down a narrow corridor, the walls lined with shelves filled with books, strange artifacts, and objects Martín couldn't begin to identify. The atmosphere was thick with an energy he couldn't quite place—something that made his skin tingle and his heart beat faster.
They entered a small room at the back of the house, cluttered yet cozy, with a large wooden table in the center. Candles flickered in various corners, casting long shadows that danced across the walls. Isabel gestured for him to sit, then took a seat across from him, folding her hands on the table.
"You're here because you've seen something you can't explain," she said, her gaze piercing through him. "Something that's shaken your very understanding of reality."
Martín nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. "Yes. It started with strange thoughts, things I don't remember writing in my journal. Then, a reflection in a mirror that seemed…alive, like it was trying to communicate with me."
Isabel listened intently, her expression unreadable. When Martín finished, she leaned back slightly, considering him. "The mind is a powerful thing, Martín. It can create illusions, but it can also reveal truths that we are not ready to face. Tell me, do you believe in the supernatural?"
Martín hesitated. A few days ago, he would have dismissed the idea outright. But now, after everything that had happened, he wasn't so sure. "I don't know," he admitted. "I've always been a man of reason, but… I can't explain what I've experienced. It feels like something beyond just my mind."
Isabel nodded, as if this was the answer she had expected. "There are forces in this world that defy explanation—energies that exist on the edges of our understanding. Sometimes, these forces reach out to us, whether we're prepared or not. The reflection you saw, the words in your journal… they may be a manifestation of something trying to break through, something that wants to be seen."
Martín felt a chill run down his spine. "What could it be? A ghost? A demon?"
"Labels don't matter," Isabel said softly. "What matters is intent. This presence, whatever it is, has a purpose. It's reaching out to you specifically, for reasons we have yet to uncover. The question is, are you ready to face it?"
Martín swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling over him. "I don't think I have a choice. It's already invaded my life, my thoughts. I need to understand what's happening to me."
Isabel stood, moving to a shelf where she retrieved a small, intricately carved box. She opened it, revealing a set of tarot cards, their edges worn with use. Returning to the table, she spread the cards out in a fan, her fingers lightly brushing over them as if feeling their energy.
"The tarot can be a guide," she explained. "It won't give you all the answers, but it might help us see the path ahead more clearly."
Martín watched as she selected a few cards, placing them face down on the table. The air in the room seemed to grow thicker, charged with anticipation. Isabel flipped the first card—a figure standing at the edge of a cliff, looking out into the unknown.
"The Fool," she said. "A card of beginnings, of stepping into the unknown with faith, even when the path is unclear. It's a sign that you're at the start of a journey, one that will challenge you in ways you've never imagined."
She turned over the next card—The Tower. The image depicted a tall structure struck by lightning, flames and debris falling from its heights.
"This represents upheaval, the destruction of old beliefs, old ways of thinking," Isabel continued. "It's a warning that what lies ahead will not be easy. You will be tested, and the foundations of your reality will be shaken."
Martín's heart pounded in his chest. The cards felt eerily accurate, resonating with the turmoil already brewing inside him. He wasn't sure he wanted to see the final card, but Isabel's hand was already moving toward it.
She flipped it over, revealing an image of a lone figure surrounded by swords, blindfolded and bound. The Eight of Swords.
"This card speaks of fear, of being trapped by your own thoughts, your own mind," Isabel said quietly. "It suggests that the greatest obstacle you face may not be external, but internal. You must confront the fears that bind you if you are to find the truth."
Martín stared at the card, feeling a deep sense of unease. Everything Isabel had said rang true, yet it only deepened the mystery. What was this presence, this force that had infiltrated his life? And why did it seem so intent on drawing him into darkness?
Isabel gathered the cards, placing them back in the box. "There is much we do not yet understand, but this is clear: you are being called to face something within yourself, something that has long been hidden. The reflection you saw may be a manifestation of that—an echo of a truth you've buried deep."
"What do I do now?" Martín asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Isabel regarded him with a mix of sympathy and resolve. "You need to return to the mirror. Confront it, engage with it. Don't let fear control you. Whatever this is, it thrives on uncertainty, on the unknown. If you face it directly, you may begin to uncover its purpose."
Martín felt a knot of fear tighten in his stomach. The thought of returning to that mirror, of deliberately seeking out the reflection that had haunted him, was terrifying. But he knew Isabel was right. He couldn't run from this any longer.
"Thank you," he said, rising from his seat. "I don't know what I'm about to face, but… I'm ready to confront it."
Isabel gave him a solemn nod. "Remember, Martín, the mirror reflects not just what is, but what could be. It shows us the truth, even when we're not ready to see it. Trust yourself, and trust the process."
Martín left the house, the weight of Isabel's words pressing down on him. The sun had dipped below the horizon, and the city was bathed in the deep blues and purples of twilight. As he walked back toward his home, the streets felt different, as if the world around him had shifted imperceptibly.
He knew that tonight, he would return to the mirror. He would confront the reflection that had disturbed his peace, challenge whatever force had decided to torment him. But more than that, he would confront himself—the doubts, the fears, the buried truths that had been pushed aside for too long.
The mirror awaited, a gateway to the unknown. And Martín, no longer the man he had been, was ready to step through, no matter what awaited him on the other side.