The drought had come. It was silent at first, creeping in like a shadow no one dared speak about. The rivers dried up, the trees withered, and the earth cracked open like old leather beneath our feet. The death toll rose every week. Winter was closing in fast, colder and darker than any we had seen before, and we were left helpless—starving in a world that had forgotten us. While the nobles wined and dined in their castles, we huddled together in empty huts, scraping what little we could find. I had no choice but to steal. Yes, it was wrong—but hunger doesn't care about morals. When your ribs feel like blades pressing through your skin and your breath tastes like dust, survival becomes your only law.
The city lord's mansion loomed above us, a cruel monument to a world divided. Its walls were thick, windows shining with candlelight even in the darkest nights. To me, it was a fortress of riches and secrets—a place I could not ignore. Breaking in terrified me at first, but desperation sharpened my senses. There was a wide chimney at the top—a narrow, black hole that promised entry. I climbed under the cover of darkness and slid down silently, landing in a room filled with velvet and silence. The air smelled of perfume and old money, a scent so foreign it made my stomach twist. I searched quickly—gold, silver, jewelry, anything I could carry. The glitter mocked me, reminding me how far I had fallen.
Then, as I passed one of the rooms, I heard it—soft, haunting, unmistakable.
"Tony…"
I froze, every muscle tense. The voice was barely above a whisper but sharp enough to cut through the silence.
"Tony. Tony."
It was my name. Spoken in a voice I knew too well—my own.
For a moment, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me. The house was old and creaky—maybe the wind was twisting through the halls, shaping sounds into words. But no, this was different. There was something wrong, unnatural about it, like the shadows themselves were trying to speak. My breath hitched, a cold sweat running down my spine as I debated whether to run or investigate.
Curiosity won over fear. I couldn't shake the feeling that whatever was calling me was waiting for something—maybe even for me. Each step toward the covered mirror felt like walking deeper into a trap, but my feet moved on their own. Something inside me was desperate to know what lay beneath that cloth, even if it meant facing the darkness I'd been running from my whole life.
I peeked into the room. It was empty. Just a large, covered mirror resting in the center, shrouded in dust and shadow.
"Tony," it called again. This time, the voice seemed to come from beneath the cloth.
I should've run. I should've turned and fled back to the starving streets. But curiosity—it got the better of me. That's where I fucked up.
With trembling hands, I pulled the cloth away.
There I was.
No… not a reflection. It was me, but something was wrong. It didn't copy my movements. It moved on its own, twisting its lips into a slow, devilish grin.
Before I could react, it reached out.
In a flash, I was no longer in the room—I was inside the mirror. Trapped in cold, silent glass. And it… it was free.
"Bye-bye," it said, mocking me with my own voice, a cruel smirk spreading across its face.
Now, I watch. Through every mirror in the city, I am powerless. Voiceless.
I watched as it walked back to my home, kissed my sister with a wicked smile, lied to my mother with a smooth tongue, and burned my name into the world like a brand. It wears my face, but it is not me.
It is becoming me.
And all I can do is watch.
I scream for help.
No one hears me.
No one can hear me.
I'm trapped behind the glass, a prisoner in my own reflection, watching as it lives the life I was never allowed to have. It eats at my family's table, laughs in my bed, and whispers sweet lies with my voice.
I'm stuck here—hungry, voiceless, forgotten.
Watching the life I always wanted slip through my fingers.
Sometimes, late at night, when the city sleeps and the mirrors reflect only darkness, I catch glimpses of what it really is. Not just a reflection, but something born from the shadows—an ancient hunger that feeds on the weak and forgotten. It whispers secrets I dare not speak aloud, promises power in exchange for my soul. But I know better. That power comes at a price. And if I give in, I'll lose myself forever, becoming nothing more than a ghost trapped behind the glass, while this creature walks free in my skin.
And yet, despite the fear, a small spark of hope burns inside me. Maybe one day, someone will see through the lies, will break the mirror's curse and shatter this cruel copy. Until then, I remain here—watching, waiting, learning. Because knowledge is power, and if I'm going to fight for my life and reclaim who I am, I have to understand the darkness that stole me first.
Because without that, I am nothing.
And worse than that—I'm forgotten.