Chapter 16: He Stands Behind the Mirror
918 Words
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Chapter Sixteen: He Stands Behind the Mirror
“You saw him,” Sable said.
“Yeah,” Elara replied. Her voice was barely above a whisper, like she was afraid of waking something up.
“And?”
“He didn’t move.” Elara sat up, her fingers still trembling. “He just stood there. Like… like a mirror.”
Sable was quiet for a few seconds. Then she laughed.
“Mirrors,” she repeated. “That’s his favorite thing, you know. He always said mirrors never lie.”
“What about him?” Elara asked. “Does he lie?”
Sable didn’t answer right away. She just kept spinning the cigarette between her fingers—she didn’t even smoke, but she liked the way it looked in her hands.
“He’s not a person,” she finally said. “Not the way you mean it. He’s lived too long. Long enough that even he’s forgotten who he used to be.”
“What about you?” Elara asked. “Have you forgotten who you are?”
Sable paused. Then she smiled.
“Me? I remember,” she said. “I remember every betrayal. Every time someone left me behind.”
The wind outside picked up. Branches tapped against the window like someone knocking.
“What does he want me to believe?” Elara asked quietly.
“That you’re not you,” Sable said, watching her closely. “That you’re just a part of him.”
“I’m not,” Elara said.
“I know,” Sable replied. “But he needs to believe it too.”
---
They decided to go to the *Mirror House*.
It was where Lorenzo used to live. Where Echo was born.
“There are still pieces of him there,” Sable said. “His voice. His dreams. His… shadow.”
“Sounds like a haunted house,” Raphael muttered.
“It’s worse than that,” Sable said. “Ghosts are at least dead.”
When they walked into the house, the air smelled strange—like old books, dust, and blood.
“He liked it here,” Elara said. “He used to… breathe here.”
“Yeah,” Sable nodded. “He liked to watch himself age in the mirrors. Then come back, young again.”
Raphael frowned. “What exactly *is* he?”
“He was a mistake,” Sable said. “A failed experiment. He wasn’t supposed to exist.”
“Like me?” Elara asked.
Sable looked at her. Then she looked away.
---
They found a mirror in the living room. Big. Black frame. Strange symbols carved into the edges.
“This was his favorite,” Sable said. “He said this mirror could *see* him.”
“See?” Elara repeated. “What does that mean?”
“He said only mirrors knew what he really looked like,” Sable said, running her fingers along the frame. “That’s why he made Echo. He wanted Echo to be his mirror.”
Elara stepped closer. At first, she only saw herself.
She let out a breath.
Then, in the mirror, another version of her appeared.
Not Echo.
Just… her. But different. Her eyes were colder. Her mouth curled into a faint, mocking smile.
“Who are you?” Elara asked.
The girl in the mirror didn’t answer. She lifted her hand and gently touched the surface.
Then, behind her, Lorenzo appeared.
He stood behind Elara in the reflection, one hand on her shoulder, the other gliding over the glass.
“You finally came,” he said.
Elara stepped back sharply.
“He’s *in* there!” she shouted.
“He knew you’d come,” Sable said softly. “He’s been waiting.”
“Why?” Elara asked. “Why me?”
“Because you’re the most like him,” Sable said. “You have the power to choose. But you haven’t been broken by fate yet.”
“I don’t believe in fate,” Elara said.
“I know,” Sable smiled. “But he needs to believe it too.”
---
That night, Elara dreamed again.
She stood in front of the mirror. Lorenzo stood behind her.
“Are you afraid of me?” he asked.
“A little,” she admitted.
“That’s fair,” he said. “But you shouldn’t be.”
“Then what should I be afraid of?”
“Yourself,” he whispered. “Afraid that you’ll become me.”
“I won’t.”
“You will,” he smiled. “Because you’re already starting to doubt.”
“I’m not.”
“You are,” he leaned in. “You’re starting to wonder if you really exist. If you really matter.”
“Shut up.”
“You’re already listening to me,” he said softly. “You’re starting to… understand me.”
“I don’t understand you,” she said. “You’re just a madman.”
“A madman?” he laughed. “I’m just… too***”
He reached through the mirror, his fingers brushing her cheek.
“We’re the same,” he said. “You just haven’t admitted it yet.”
---
The next morning, Elara woke up to find a message on the mirror.
It was written with a finger. Wet. Red.
> “You’ve seen me. Now it’s your turn.”
She stared at it. Her heart pounded.
She knew then—Lorenzo wasn’t hiding behind the mirror anymore.
He was stepping through.
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- Writer
