Chapter One: The Mirror
I've always had a fascination with mirrors. I'm not sure why. Maybe it's the way they reflect everything but never show the truth. They trap you in a moment, a snapshot of who you are right then, without any regard for what you really are.
It was late in the evening when I found it. The antique shop was tucked away on a quiet street, the kind of place you almost had to stumble into. The sign above the door had faded with age, its letters barely legible. "Curiosities," it read. I had passed it countless times before, but something about that night called me inside.
The shop was cramped, cluttered with trinkets, and dust motes floated lazily in the dim light. There were shelves crammed with forgotten artifacts, old paintings with chipped frames, and strange sculptures I couldn't quite make sense of. But it was the mirrors that caught my attention.
They were everywhere. Some were small and oval, others tall and wide, framed in gold and silver, some cracked with age. But there was one in the farthest corner of the shop that drew me in.
It was large, almost towering, with an intricate frame of blackened wood that twisted and curled like vines. Its surface was smooth, too smooth, and it beckoned me, despite the unease crawling up my spine.
I wasn't sure what I was expecting when I approached it. Maybe I thought it was just another old mirror. But as I gazed into it, something felt… off.
I didn't see my reflection at first. Instead, the surface seemed to ripple, like the water in a pond disturbed by a stone. Slowly, my own image began to form, but it wasn't quite right. My reflection stood there, staring back at me, but it was moving on its own.
I blinked, unsure if I was seeing things. The reflection smiled. Not the smile I had on my face, but something different—wider, darker, more twisted. My stomach dropped.
I pulled back, but the reflection didn't. It continued to stare, its smile growing until it was an almost grotesque mockery of my own expression. I felt a chill run through me, and I stumbled backward, away from the mirror.
"Is there a problem, sir?" a voice asked, startling me.
I turned and saw the shopkeeper, a frail old man with wild, unkempt hair. He stood in the doorway, watching me with curious eyes.
I couldn't look away from the mirror. "This… this mirror," I said, trying to steady my voice. "It's… not right."
The man chuckled softly. "Ah, you've found it." He stepped closer, his old shoes shuffling on the floor. "That one's special. It doesn't just reflect you, it reflects… something else."
I frowned. "Something else? What do you mean?"
He smiled, but it wasn't comforting. "It shows you the truth. But not the truth you want to see. It shows what you are. What you really are."
I glanced back at the mirror, but the reflection was no longer mine. It was dark, its eyes black and hollow, its grin stretched unnaturally wide, as though it could split its face open.
The air in the shop grew colder. My breath fogged in front of me, and I felt a strange pressure in my chest, like something was watching me.
The reflection raised its hand, but I didn't move. It wasn't me in the mirror anymore. It was something else. Something that looked like me, but twisted, distorted.
"It's not just a mirror," the old man continued. "It's a door. A door to a place where all truths reside. And once you see it, it never lets you go."
I backed away slowly, but the reflection in the mirror didn't move. It just stayed there, smiling, its eyes hollow and empty. I turned to run, but I felt something cold grab my wrist. I spun around, my heart racing, but the old man was gone. The shop was empty.
I looked back at the mirror, my reflection now staring directly at me. I couldn't look away. Something about it was pulling me in, a force stronger than my own will.
"Do you know what you really are?" the reflection whispered.
I didn't respond, but my throat tightened. My hands trembled. It wasn't my voice. It wasn't even my face.
And then, in a blink, the reflection reached out and touched the glass. The surface rippled like water once more, but this time, it wasn't my reflection. It was a shadow, an empty, dark shape that pulled me closer.
I tried to scream, but no sound came. My body was no longer mine. I was being drawn into the mirror, and I couldn't stop it. The glass rippled around me, pulling me in, and as I was sucked deeper into the reflection, I saw the shop around me fade, the dark, twisted version of myself grinning wider than ever.
You see, Claire—yes, Claire Davis, the one whose hand you just extended—was never meant to leave the mirror. You think you can control your own reflection, your own image. But once you look into the right mirror, you stop seeing what you want. You see what you truly are.
Claire thought she could just leave the shop and forget, but some truths are too powerful. They pull you in. They swallow you whole, dragging you into the place where all versions of yourself exist.
You're never really alone in the mirror.
Once you step in, it's only a matter of time before it takes you. And once you're taken, there's no escape.
Because the truth will always stare back at you, no matter how hard you try to look away.