It began with a whisper.
Soft.
Almost imperceptible.
A voice not in her ear but beneath her skin.
Elara.
Come see.
She sat upright in her bed, pulse echoing in her ribs like a war drum. The night was quiet. Too quiet.
No wind.
No fire crackle.
Not even the sound of Kael's boots pacing the outer corridor as they usually did when he couldn't sleep.
She should've stayed.
Should've ignored it.
But something—
Some instinct older than language—
Drew her up.
And out.
The halls were empty.
Lit only by dying sconces.
The castle itself seemed to slumber, caught in a dream that had no waking.
She followed the pull down spiraling steps she didn't recognize, through a side door she'd never seen open before.
And into—
The Mirror Hall.
The name came to her unbidden.
A vast chamber.
Ceilingless.
Walls lined floor to arch with mirrors of every size, age, and shape.
Some shattered.
Some glowing faintly.
Some reflecting back nothing at all.
She took one step.
The air shifted.
The door behind her vanished.
And the mirrors—
Came alive.
At first, it was subtle.
Her reflection lagged a second behind.
Tilted its head wrong.
Smiled when she didn't.
Then came the others.
Mirrors that didn't reflect her at all.
Only versions of her.
Twisted.
Burned.
Bloodied.
One mirror showed her with her throat torn out, eyes still blinking.
Another showed her in a bridal gown, chained to Kael's throne by her ribs.
Another—
Her back arched, mouth open in a silent scream, as Kael kissed her neck and slid a bone dagger between her shoulder blades.
"No," she whispered. "This isn't real."
The mirrors began to speak.
You're just a shadow.
You're a vessel.
You're her.
You're no one.
She ran.
Blindly.
Faster.
The walls curved endlessly, always more mirrors.
Always more versions.
Always more deaths.
She screamed.
The room swallowed it whole.
Then—
She found the throne.
At the center of the hall stood a replica of Kael's seat.
Empty.
Cracked.
Bleeding.
And nailed to it—
Her own corpse.
Skin drained white.
Eyes open.
Lips stitched.
In her mouth—
A silver ring.
Her own.
The bone ring.
Her voice cracked.
"Stop this—"
And all the mirrors shattered at once.
The sound split her ears.
Glass rained down.
And out of the storm stepped—
Herself.
Perfect.
Smiling.
Alive.
"Hello, Elara," the mirror-her said. "You finally made it."
Elara backed away.
"You're not real."
"I'm more real than you."
"No."
"Yes," the other said. "Because I don't flinch when Kael kisses me. I don't bleed when he breaks me. I thank him."
Elara shook her head.
"You're the part he wanted. I'm the part he got."
Mirror-Elara stepped closer.
"You're the fear. I'm the fire."
"You're the lie."
"And yet," she whispered, "you still came to see me."
Then Mirror-Elara lunged.
Elara screamed—
And a blast of black fire knocked the illusion backward.
Footsteps.
Boots.
Glass crunching.
Kael.
He stood behind her, one arm shielding her, the other holding a dagger made of obsidian and bone.
"Elara," he growled. "Look at me."
She couldn't.
Her eyes were locked on the mirrored corpse.
Kael stepped into her line of vision.
Held her face.
Forced her to meet his gaze.
"You're awake."
"Yes."
"You're safe."
"No."
"Yes, you are."
She gasped.
Fell into him.
Shaking.
"I saw it," she whispered.
"I know."
"All of it."
"I know."
"They said I'm not real."
"You're more real than anything they've ever made."
She sobbed.
"I'm scared."
Kael held her tighter.
"What of?"
She didn't hesitate.
"I'm afraid of me."
Silence.
Then—
Kael knelt beside the nearest mirror shard.
Took her hand.
Placed it on the glass.
Then drew with his fingertip, dipped in his own blood.
A symbol.
Old.
Protective.
Claiming.
"She does not belong to the mirror," he said.
"She belongs to herself."
The shard shimmered.
Then cracked.
Not shattered.
Just enough to distort the reflection.
Just enough to make it hers again.
When they left the Mirror Hall, Kael carried her.
She didn't protest.
She didn't cry.
She just whispered:
"Next time… don't wait so long."
And he said:
"Next time, I'll burn the mirrors before they can call your name."