The Reflection....

Mira stood in front of the antique mirror, her breath shallow. The dim glow of her bedside lamp cast flickering shadows across the room. It had started a week ago—the reflection moving when she didn’t. At first, it was subtle. A blink out of sync, a twitch of the lips that she hadn’t made. But tonight, it was undeniable.

She tilted her head to the left. Her reflection hesitated, then mimicked her a second later. A cold shiver ran down her spine.

“This isn’t real,” she whispered, forcing a laugh.

The reflection smiled. She hadn’t.

Mira stepped back. The reflection didn’t. It stood there, watching her, its grin stretching unnaturally wide. A deep, guttural sound crawled from its throat, something between a chuckle and a growl.

Her stomach churned. She turned to run, but the lamp flickered and died, plunging the room into darkness.

A whisper came from the mirror. “Let me out.”

The glass cracked.

Mira stumbled backward, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. The whisper slithered through the room, pressing against her ears like cold fingers.

The crack in the mirror spread, jagged veins creeping outward. The reflection—her reflection—tilted its head, but the movement was wrong, jerky, almost… inhuman.

Then it moved forward.

Not just closer in the glass. It pushedagainst it. The surface of the mirror warped, stretching like old, brittle skin. A hand—her hand, but pale, lifeless—pressed against the glass from the inside.

Mira turned to flee.

The bedroom door slammed shut.

Her reflection—the thing—giggled. “Don’t run. You’ll only make this harder.”

The hand pushed through. The glass bent and peeled like melting ice, and then an arm, impossibly long, crawled out.

Mira grabbed the lamp and hurled it at the mirror. Glass shattered, shards raining across the floor. For a moment, there was silence.

Then… a breath behind her.

A whisper, so close it brushed her ear:

“That won’t stop me.”

The lights flickered back on. The mirror was gone.

But the reflection remained.