The candlelight in Zaria's chamber wavered as if caught in a restless breeze, though the windows were closed tight against the night's chill. She lay awake on the plush silken sheets, mind tangled with the memory of the mirror's shattered image—and the warning of the woman trapped inside. Every breath felt too loud; every heartbeat a drum pounding in the silence.
She rose, slipping from the bed as though drawn by an unseen force. Her slippers whispered across the polished floor as she crept to the small basin in the corner. In its silver surface, her reflection stared back—pale, wide-eyed, haunted. She reached out, fingertips trembling.
A whisper, soft and urgent:
"Zaria…"
She jolted back, eyes scanning the dim room. There was no one there, only the shadows twisting against the walls. Her pulse throbbed in her temples.
Outside, the castle was a labyrinth of secrets. She wrapped a crimson shawl around her shoulders and stepped into the corridor, guided by the light of a single torch. The hush of midnight pressed in on her, the air thick with expectancy.
At the end of the hall, a distant murmur reached her ears—like a lullaby half-forgotten. She followed it, heart clenching, until she stood before the heavy door to the East Wing. The guards had sealed it, but the wood groaned as she laid her hand upon it. It felt warm, as though something on the other side was breathing.
"Zaria…" The voice, so close she could have sworn it whispered in her ear.
She hesitated only a moment before forcing the door open. The guards, stationed beyond the outer barrier, shouted in surprise, but she moved past them without a word, driven by a mixture of dread and irresistible curiosity.
The corridor beyond was darker than before, the torches sputtering against an unseen dampness. Every footstep sounded hollow. Zaria advanced, her shawl slipping from her shoulders, forgotten, as she approached the mirror chamber once more.
Inside, the orbs of pale blue light floated motionless. The golden-framed mirror stood at its center, untouched and ominous. Zaria's breath caught. She remembered Kael's warning: never touch it again. And yet…
A soft cry echoed behind her. She spun to see the woman's image flicker in the glass—pale and trembling. This time, the woman pressed both hands to the glass, her plea wordless but clear.
Zaria's feet moved of their own accord. She reached out, palm trembling against the cool glass. A shock raced through her arm, as if the mirror had drawn a thread of her very soul.
Images flashed before her eyes—memories that were not her own. A laughing sweetheart dancing under lantern lights. A promise whispered beneath a harvest moon. A kiss that ended in a scream. And then the laughter, jagged and cruel, echoing in a great hall.
Zaria stumbled back, heart pounding. The mirror went still. The woman's face melted away into mist, and the glass reflected only Zaria's stunned expression.
A voice, low and urgent, rattled behind her.
"Zaria!"
She whirled to find Kael standing in the doorway, his cloak trailing like a shadow. His eyes blazed with a furious light.
"How many times must I tell you?" he growled. "The mirror is poison!"
She tried to speak, but her voice caught in her throat. Instead, she pointed. "She—she was here. She begged me!"
Kael strode forward, every movement controlled. He braced himself against the frame of the mirror, eyes darting over its surface as if he could see through to the other side.
"That was not her," he muttered. "It's the curse mocking you. Twisting your empathy into its own weapon."
He turned to her, jaw clenched. "Come with me."
He took her hand, firm but tender, and led her back down the corridor. Zaria followed, tears stinging her eyes—not from pain, but from a profound ache she had never known. Each step away from the mirror felt like tearing part of herself loose.
They emerged into a small sitting chamber lit by a single lantern. Kael closed the door and removed his cloak, draping it around Zaria's shoulders without meeting her gaze.
"Why didn't you tell me everything?" she whispered.
He sank into a velvet chair, head bowed. After a moment, he looked up, his expression softer, carrying the weight of years. "Because I wanted to protect you from the horror of it. Because I thought I could bear it alone."
Zaria knelt beside him, searching his eyes. "Tell me now."
He drew a slow breath. "My fiancée—Elara—was drawn here the same way you were. She loved me with all her heart. One night, she followed the mirror's call and touched its glass. The curse consumed her soul, bound her to this place. Since then, I've tried to shatter the mirror, to free her, but every blow to it only strengthens its hold."
Zaria's hand found his. "Then we'll break it together."
Kael shook his head. "The curse is older than this castle. It feeds on love, on devotion, on heartbreak. It grows with every life it traps. If we attack it with force, it will destroy itself—and us."
She swallowed hard. "Then what do we do?"
He stood slowly, pacing the room. The lantern light cast his long shadow on the wall. "We learn its name. Every ancient magic has a name, a heart. And we find the ritual that undoes it. Elara knew the beginning. She left clues—fragments of rhyme, faint symbols in her diary. We must find them before the curse finds you."
A determined spark lit in Zaria's chest. "Show me."
He moved to a heavy chest and opened it, revealing a bundle of yellowed papers, bound with a silver ribbon. He handed them to her. The parchment crackled in her hands.
Together, they bent over the flickering lantern:
- A fragment of verse: "When moon and mirror meet in silent grief…"
- A sigil of twisting vines drawn in charcoal.
- A single line in Elara's delicate script: "Trust only the name that trembles in the heart."
Zaria traced the words with her fingertip. "Trust… the name in the heart."
Kael closed his eyes, voice low. "Elara believed love itself could be the undoing. If you truly love me, Zaria—if your love is stronger than the curse's hunger—then the mirror will break."
Zaria's breath caught. The weight of his words pressed on her like the stone walls around them. To love him, knowing the castle would try to gobble her soul—it was a test she never expected.
She looked up, meeting his eyes. "I will try."
He reached out, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "No. You must succeed."
A thunder rolled in the distance, as though the castle itself frowned. Zaria felt the walls hum with ancient power, waiting.
She closed her eyes, heart steadying. "Tomorrow, we begin."
Kael nodded, a ghost of hope flickering across his features. "Tomorrow, we fight back the darkness."
Outside, the wind rose, carrying with it the faintest echo:
"Zaria…"
But this time, it sounded almost like a plea for help.
And as the candles guttered low, Zaria made a silent vow: she would learn the curse's true name—or become the next face trapped in the glass.