Whispers of the veil

The first thing Elara noticed about the town was how quiet the air felt like the world was holding its breath. Her new apartment sat at the edge of the sea, where the wind carried whispers instead of words. The walls smelled faintly of salt and lavender, and every time she opened the window, the curtains swayed like they were greeting someone invisible. She liked it here. The silence. The solitude. The way time felt slower. But the mirrors… The mirrors didn’t behave. On her second night, as the sky melted into twilight, Elara brushed her hair in front of the old mirror hanging by her bed. Its glass had tiny cracks around the edges, like veins of silver light. She caught her reflection smiling only, she hadn’t smiled. Her heart froze. The reflection blinked, then tilted its head the same way her mother used to, before asking if she was keeping secrets. Elara’s brush slipped from her hand. It hit the floor with a sharp clink that felt too loud in the small room. She stepped closer to the mirror. Her reflection stepped back. A beat too late. “Maybe I’m just tired,” she whispered. Her voice came out softer than she meant, like even the air didn’t want to disturb whatever she’d just seen. Outside, the sea shimmered not silver, but white, as if moonlight had started spilling out before the moon even rose. Then she saw it. In the corner of the mirror, behind her reflection, a shadow flickered tall, faintly human, standing where the wall should’ve been. And then a voice, soft and broken, brushed against her mind like wind through feathers. “Liora… you found me.” Elara spun around. The room was empty. Only the curtains danced, whispering secrets she couldn’t yet hear. And in the mirror her reflection was smiling again.