Lena had always considered herself a creature of habit. Each morning, she followed the same routine: a cup of coffee, a quick glance at the newspaper, and then off to the bathroom to freshen up before work.
But this morning, as she stood in front of the mirror brushing her teeth, something felt off.
For one, her reflection didn't quite mirror her movements. She raised the toothbrush to her mouth, but in the reflection, her image paused for a split second, as though it was waiting for her to act. When she glanced at the reflection, it smiled—just a little too wide, stretching her lips far beyond the natural curve of her face.
Lena paused, her hand frozen mid-air, heart pounding in her chest. It was a quick, almost imperceptible change, but it was there. Her reflection had done something on its own—something she hadn't willed it to do. She dropped the toothbrush and stared harder into the mirror. The reflection mirrored her gaze, but it also seemed to hold a deep, unsettling awareness in its eyes.
She shook her head. It had to be a trick of the light, some optical illusion. She quickly turned away, trying to dismiss the incident, but the unease clung to her.
The following days were worse. Each time she passed a mirror, Lena couldn't help but notice that her reflection was acting out of sync with her. Small things at first: the reflection would hold a pose just a fraction too long, or it would blink a second after she did. But soon, it became more noticeable. The reflection would smile when she wasn't, or scowl when she was neutral.
One night, after dinner, Lena was washing her hands in the bathroom when the reflection did something that made her blood run cold.
She bent to rinse her hands under the water, and her reflection did the same—but then it grinned. A slow, malicious grin, full of teeth, as if mocking her.
Lena froze, staring at her reflection, her heart hammering in her chest. "No," she whispered, her voice trembling. "No, this isn't happening."
But it wasn't over. The reflection's smile grew wider, and then it raised its hand to wave at her, mimicking her own movements with a mocking precision—but it was too perfect. It was as if it knew what she would do before she did it. And then, just as quickly, it stopped.
Lena backed away, stumbling toward the door. She reached for the handle, but the reflection in the mirror—her reflection—paused. The smile lingered, the eyes glinted with something dark, something alive.
Her breath caught in her throat as the reflection's mouth moved, silently. The words were barely audible: "You're not in control anymore."
After that night, Lena's reflection didn't just mimic her actions—it started to behave on its own. At first, it was small things: her reflection would tilt its head when she was looking elsewhere, or it would stand still while Lena moved, watching her with an unsettling intensity.
But as the days went on, the reflection grew bolder. It no longer waited for her to make the first move. It would walk when she wasn't, or raise an arm without her prompting. Lena tried to stop it by covering the mirror, but it was always there, in the corner of her vision.
One evening, Lena was sitting in the living room, her eyes glued to the TV. She glanced at the mirror on the wall beside her, just for a moment. And there it was. Her reflection was grinning at her, but this time, it wasn't just mimicking her smile—it was a new smile, one filled with something malicious, something other.
It lifted its hand slowly, curling the fingers into a fist. Lena's stomach churned. It wasn't mimicking her anymore. It was controlling itself.
She tried to move away from the mirror, but the reflection was faster. It reached out as if trying to grab her, its fingers stretching toward her, but she couldn't look away.
The reflection didn't stop—it slammed its hand against the glass, and Lena felt a jolt of pain shoot through her own hand. She screamed, stumbling back.
Lena's world became a nightmare. She couldn't escape her reflection anymore. It was everywhere—taunting her from every mirror, every window, every shiny surface. Sometimes, it would act normal, just like her, but other times, it would stare at her with malevolent eyes, its lips curling into that same haunting grin.
And then, one morning, it happened.
Lena woke up in a cold sweat. The air was thick with dread as she stood before the bathroom mirror, her eyes fixed on her reflection. She could feel the weight of it—the reflection was watching her now, not the other way around.
She raised her hand, ready to brush her teeth, but this time, her reflection didn't mimic her. It froze, staring back at her with something akin to contempt. The smile didn't form this time—it was a look of deep, unspoken anger, a look that felt almost like... rebellion.
Lena's breath caught in her throat. "What do you want?" she whispered, her voice hoarse.
The reflection's eyes narrowed. Slowly, it reached toward the glass, pressing its fingers against the surface. Lena could feel a pulse, a strange tug on her soul, as if the reflection was pulling something from her.
It whispered back—its voice both in her head and in the room, as if it had breached the barrier between them. "I've been waiting for you to notice."
Lena's heart raced. The reflection slowly drew its hand back, and as it did, Lena felt her own hand twitch. No longer was it in her control. She gasped, her entire body freezing. Her hand moved involuntarily toward the mirror, as if it was being drawn into the reflection. She screamed, but it was no use. The reflection was in control now.
The glass cracked.