Joy sits alone in her dorm room, the weight of sleep deprivation and fear making her limbs feel like lead.
The campus outside her window bustles with life, oblivious to the nightmare that's been creeping into her every waking and sleeping moment.
The marks on her wrist, faint but darkening every day, seem to pulse with an eerie energy of their own.
The dark influence Maya left behind refuses to let go.
Joy senses it constantly, in the echoing footsteps she hears behind her, in the chills that race up her spine when she's alone, and in the strange sensations that something, someone, is watching from the shadows.
It's late afternoon, but as the shadows lengthen in her room, she feels as if the sun will never rise again.
Unable to bear the silence, she walks to her mirror.
Her reflection looks pale and gaunt, the person she used to know now distorted by fear.
But there's something else—a darkness flickering in her own eyes, a faint glimmer of something that doesn't belong to her. Her heartbeat races as she leans closer.
Joy: (whispering in fear) This… this isn't me.
The reflection in the mirror tilts its head, just slightly, at an angle Joy hasn't made.
Her breath catches. Her reflection begins to smile, slowly stretching into a grin that spreads far too wide, eyes hollow and bottomless.
The Reflection: Oh, but it is you, Joy. You brought us here… you welcomed us in.
Joy's heart pounds, but she forces herself to hold her own gaze, determined not to give in to the terror clawing at her mind.
She reaches out to touch the mirror, feeling the cool glass under her fingers as the distorted reflection's smile widens.
Joy: No. I didn't want this. I never wanted any of this.
Reflection: (mocking) Didn't you? You sought us out… you let Maya lead you here. This is what you wanted Joy. Deep down, you knew.
The reflection's hand rises as if to meet hers, but as it presses against the glass, its fingers darken, black veins spreading from its palm to the wrist like ink.
Joy tries to pull her hand away, but the reflection's palm moves in tandem with hers, holding her in place.
Her breath quickens, her pulse racing, but she digs her heels in, summoning every ounce of willpower she has left.
Joy: (firmly) I'm not afraid of you, I'm a child of God.
The reflection's eyes flash, the grin falling. A momentary flicker of anger crosses its face.
Reflection: (hissing) You can't deny us, Joy. We're inside you now. You can't escape.
With a surge of strength, Joy tears her hand away, stumbling backward.
The reflection remains motionless, expression frozen in rage, as if waiting for her to make the next move.
The room suddenly feels colder, the air heavy with dread. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, to anchor herself in reality.
But just as she regains her footing, the mirror begins to warp, the glass rippling as if it's made of liquid. Slowly, the reflection morphs, shifting from her own face to an image of Maya.
Maya: (voice echoing through the room) You thought you could leave, didn't you, Joy? You thought you could escape the darkness… but it's part of you now.
Joy backs up until she's pressed against the wall, trapped between the mirror and the oppressive shadows filling her room.
Joy: (defiantly) No, Maya. You're the one who's trapped here, not me.
The mirror cracks, splintering as if in response to her words. Maya's face twists in fury, her eyes narrowing as the dark veins spread further across the glass.
The shards shake, as if they're ready to shatter completely.
Maya: (sneering) You think you're strong enough? You have no idea what's coming, Joy. The shadows want you. You belong to them.
The lights in the room flicker, and the shadows seem to grow thicker, pressing in from every corner.
She can feel the weight of them, a suffocating presence that makes it hard to breathe. She clenches her fists, refusing to let Maya see her fear.
In that moment, she remembers something her grandmother once told her: "The darkness can only take what you let it and you have power over rulers of darkness through Jesus Christ." She'd thought it was a real, a remnant of her grandmother's superstitions. But now, it feels like a lifeline.
Joy: (whispering to herself) I won't let it. Not this time. If Christ be for me, who shall be against me.
Gathering her courage, she steps back toward the mirror, her reflection returning as Maya's image fades.
She stares at herself, her real self, and focuses on the parts of her that the darkness hasn't touched—the memories of her family, the laughter of her friends, the moments of light that have kept her going.
Joy: (firmly) This is the life of Christ in me. Not yours. You don't own me.
The shadows tremble, retreating slightly, as if repelled by her defiance.
She can feel their pull, their hunger for her fear, but she digs in, refusing to give an inch. With each heartbeat, she pushes back, imagining the shadows shrinking, receding. The air begins to lighten, the oppressive weight lifting as she forces the darkness out of her room, out of her mind.
Suddenly, the mirror shatters, fragments of glass scattering across the floor.
The oppressive energy dissipates, leaving only a chilling silence in its wake.
Her reflection is gone, replaced by a thousand tiny shards, each reflecting her face back at her, fractured but whole.
She breathes out slowly, the tension finally releasing from her body.
She's still shaking, her heart racing, but for the first time in days, she feels a sense of control, of power over her own mind.
But she knows this isn't over. The shadows haven't gone—they're simply waiting, watching for a moment of weakness.
Maya's words linger in her mind, a reminder that the darkness hasn't given up its claim.
Joy: (to herself) You may have brought me here, Maya, but I'm not yours. Not now, not ever.
She takes a deep breath, her gaze hardening as she stands amidst the shattered glass.
The pieces around her are sharp, cold, but they glint in the dim light, reminding her that even in brokenness, there's strength.
She gathers herself, resolute, feeling the spark of resilience she thought she'd lost.
As she turns away from the mirror, a final whisper drifts through the air, faint but unmistakable, as if coming from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Whisper: (softly) We'll be waiting, Joy. Always waiting…
She closes her eyes, taking one last steadying breath before she opens the door and steps out into the hallway, leaving the broken mirror—and the remnants of her fear—behind.
The shadows might still lurk in the corners of her mind, but she's no longer running.
She knows now that they only have the power she gives them. And she's not giving them any more.