Chapter 6 6.Chapter 6:The Blood Moon

Chapter 6: The Blood Moon Approaches**

The town of Wyndgrave was quiet that morning. Too quiet. Like something ancient beneath the earth was holding its breath.

Kira walked through the mist-veiled streets, the locket heavy around her neck, Elias Vane's journal tucked beneath her coat. The town's narrow alleys and crooked chimneys felt more like a labyrinth than usual, as if the mirror's influence was stretching, twisting the very map of her reality.

She needed answers.

And there was one place left to look.

The Wyndgrave Historical Society.

A crumbling stone building wedged between two half-abandoned shops, it was filled with brittle books, forbidden records, and secrets that had long tried to be forgotten.

Kira had never dared go inside alone.

Today, she did.

The curator, an elderly woman with eyes like cracked glass, met her at the door. She said nothing, only nodded once, and stepped aside.

As if she'd been waiting.

Kira made her way to the back room-a place no one else ever entered. It smelled of parchment, mold, and something older... colder.

She laid Elias's journal on the table, along with the sketch of the mirror's symbols.

"I need to know what this is," she said aloud, though no one stood beside her.

A voice drifted from the shadows behind the shelves.

"You're the Langley girl."

Kira turned. The old curator stood there, holding a book bound in red leather. She opened it, revealing a page marked with the same obsidian sigil.

"The Obsidian Mirror isn't just a relic," she said. "It's a gate."

"A gate to what?"

"To *what comes after forgetting.*"

Kira's mouth went dry.

The woman continued, "The mirror predates this town. It predates language. It was worshipped by a forgotten sect that believed reflection was sacred-and dangerous. They thought the mirror could purge what they called 'the rot of memory.' But something went wrong."

Kira leaned in. "What happened?"

"They lost themselves. The mirror doesn't just purge memories-it *devours* them. Identity, emotion, time. The more you look, the less of you there is."

Kira remembered the dreams. The alternate selves. The reflections.

"So why keep it?" she asked.

"Because someone must," the curator said. "It's like a fire-terrible and useful. Unwatched, it consumes everything. Guarded, it remains contained."

"But I don't want to be its Keeper."

"Few ever do."

Kira's voice dropped. "The Blood Moon... what happens then?"

The curator's eyes dimmed. "The mirror awakens fully. The veil between reflection and reality grows thin. If it isn't sealed, it no longer needs dreams to reach you."

Kira clenched her jaw. "How do I seal it?"

The curator said nothing at first. Then, softly, "You must offer it something it cannot reflect."

"What does that mean?"

"A paradox. A truth without image. A gift without memory."

Kira's pulse raced.

A truth without image?

A gift without memory?

She thought of the locket. Her mother. The memory of the swing in the garden.

Could she give it up?

She left the Historical Society with more questions than answers, the journal clutched tight and her heart heavier than ever.

That night, as the first red haze of the Blood Moon began to stain the horizon, Kira stood before the attic mirror once more.

The mirror pulsed. Softly. Slowly. Like a heartbeat.

Her reflection blinked-and stepped *forward*.

It pressed a hand to the inside of the glass.

Kira didn't flinch this time.

"Three nights left," it whispered with her voice. "And then we trade places."

Kira stared at it.

"No," she said.

It smiled.

"You've already started forgetting."

And when Kira turned away, she realized she couldn't remember what day it was.

Or the sound of her mother's laugh.