It began with a c***k in a mirror.
Not a shatter—just a sudden fracture that split the reflection of Sophia’s face in two.
She hadn’t touched it.
Hadn’t even spoken.
Only thought.
She’d been staring, jaw tight, eyes drawn with exhaustion after hours of council debate—one more pointless argument about the funding split between Crestwood and Redwood border relief.
Her thoughts had been sharp. Furious. Silent.
Then—snap.
The mirror webbed.
And the air felt… wrong. Just for a moment. Heavy, then humming.
She told herself it was stress. Nothing more.
Then that night her chamber-door twisted on the hinges as she passed by, the wood straining as though it had been subjected to some unnatural warmth. The candles on her table burned too bright too quick and went out in smoke.
Still, she
