Chapter 17: You’re Not Me, But You Could Be
736 Words
Chapter Seventeen: You’re Not Me, But You Could Be
“The mirror lied,” Elara said.
“What?” Sable was lighting a cigarette, and her hand jerked slightly at the sound of Elara’s voice.
“The mirror lied,” Elara repeated. “He said mirrors never lie. But that’s not true.”
“What did you see?” Sable asked.
“I saw myself,” Elara said. “But not me.”
“You sound like Lorenzo now.”
“So what?” Elara leaned against the window frame. The wind was blowing her hair into her face. “He said I was his mirror, didn’t he?”
“He did,” Sable said. “But you have to be careful. He doesn’t speak to tell you the truth. He speaks to make you become part of it.”
“I’m already changing,” Elara said quietly. “I can feel it.”
---
They went back to the *Mirror House*, but this time, it felt different.
The message was still there on the glass:
> “You’ve seen me. Now it’s your turn.”
“I don’t want to go in,” Raphael said.
“You never do,” Sable replied, smirking. “But you’re still here.”
“Because I’m scared she won’t come back,” Raphael said, looking at Elara.
“No one ever really comes back,” Sable said. “Just not always the same person.”
Elara opened the door. The smell hit them again—old books, dust, and blood.
“He’s still here,” she said.
“Who?” Sable asked.
“Lorenzo.” Elara’s voice was flat. “He’s watching.”
“He always is,” Sable said. “He never left.”
---
They walked into the living room. The black-framed mirror was still in place.
But this time, the reflection wasn’t Elara.
It was Echo.
She stood there, expressionless, staring back at them.
“She’s looking at us,” Raphael said.
“She’s not ‘she,’” Sable said. “She’s Echo.”
“But why is she moving?” Elara asked. “She’s just… a reflection, right?”
“She’s a part of you,” Sable said. “But now she’s learning… how to choose.”
“I don’t believe that,” Elara said. “She’s just a copy.”
“Then how do you know you’re not?” Sable looked at her.
Elara didn’t answer.
---
Suddenly, Echo moved.
She raised her hand and traced a line across the mirror’s surface.
The mirror cracked.
Not shattered—split, like a door opening slowly.
A cold wind blew out, carrying a sound.
Laughter.
“It’s him,” Elara said.
“No,” Sable shook her head. “He’s not inside anymore.”
“Then why is he laughing?” Elara asked.
“Because he knows you finally understand,” Sable said. “You’re not him. But you could be.”
“I won’t become him.”
“You could,” Sable said. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”
---
That night, Elara dreamed again.
She stood in front of the mirror, but this time, there was no reflection.
Only a voice.
“You’re afraid of me,” the voice said.
“Yes,” she said.
“You should be afraid of yourself,” the voice replied.
“I’m not.”
“You are,” it said, closer now. “You’re afraid you’ll fall in love with the feeling.”
“What feeling?”
“The feeling of control,” the voice whispered. “You think you were chosen. But you’ve been choosing all along.”
“I didn’t choose.”
“You did,” the voice said. “Every time you refused, it was still a choice.”
“I don’t want to hear this.”
“You already are,” the voice said. “You’re already becoming me.”
She reached out and touched the mirror.
It shattered.
She saw herself on the floor, surrounded by glass, blood running down her face.
But it wasn’t her.
It was Lorenzo.
---
The next morning, Elara woke up and walked to the mirror.
There was a message again.
Written with a finger. Wet. Red.
> “You chose. Welcome.”
She stood there, looking at her reflection.
She knew then—Lorenzo wasn’t hiding anymore.
He was out.
And she was… different.
---
- Writer
