Chapter 8 8.Chapter 8:The mirror's Hunger

Chapter 8: The Mirror's Hunger

The shard in Kira's hand was cold-too cold. It pulsed like a heartbeat, thrumming against her palm. Inside it, the younger version of herself pressed silently at the glass, mouthing words Kira couldn't hear.

She stared into the shard for a long time before wrapping it carefully in cloth and tucking it inside the locket. If there were fragments of her hidden in the mirror, maybe this was one she could save.

But the mirror wasn't done with her.

That night, she dreamed not of reflections-but of absence.

She stood in a town stripped bare of color. Wyndgrave, but hollow. The streets were ash. The buildings, skeletal outlines. And everywhere she looked, people wandered-blank-faced, wordless. Their eyes were mirrors.

One by one, they turned to her and whispered the same phrase:

"Feed it, or be fed to it."

Kira woke choking on her breath. Her bedroom window was open, wind howling through it. She didn't remember opening it. The locket hung heavy around her neck.

When she looked at the mirror in her dresser-one she hadn't yet covered-she saw something watching her.

Not herself. Not anymore.

It blinked.

And smiled.

She returned to the attic by noon. The protective circle had been fully erased. The candles were melted to waxy puddles. The obsidian mirror stood bare and bold, its surface swirling with ink-dark smoke.

She didn't speak.

She didn't need to.

The mirror was hungry now. It had tasted her soul and wanted the rest.

It offered her memories-teased her with them.

A birthday party from her childhood.

A song her mother used to hum.

A boy she'd once loved, now forgotten.

But every time she reached forward, they slipped away-and the mirror grew stronger.

It fed on her reaching.

That's when she understood:

The mirror wasn't just devouring her.

It was feeding on her desire. Her longing. Her grief.

And it had done so for centuries.

She scoured the journal again, desperate for answers. Near the bottom of a torn page was a line scrawled in Evelyn's handwriting:

"It cannot take what you give freely."

Kira sat frozen.

The mirror stole when it could. But if she offered something willingly... perhaps it couldn't use it against her.

She had to test the theory.

Kira retrieved an old diary from her childhood. She tore out a single page-a letter to her mother-and held it to the mirror.

"I give this," she said aloud. "Freely. It's yours."

The mirror shimmered. The page vanished from her fingers like ash. But this time, it didn't hurt. It didn't pull. It paused.

It was confused.

Kira smiled grimly.

That night, she gave it another page-a painful memory she could afford to lose. A time when Evelyn scolded her for asking too many questions. One more page, and then another.

Each time, the mirror hesitated longer.

It was feeding.

But not feasting.

Not yet.

The next morning, Kira opened her eyes to find the attic mirror cracked further.

And standing just outside her bedroom door was a second version of her, eyes blank, mouth slightly open.

It didn't move.

It just watched.

Waiting.

The mirror was no longer content with stealing pieces.

Now, it wanted her whole.

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