Mirror Of Death

Prologue

In the dimly lit room, the girl of twenty-one stood before an ornate mirror, her reflection a beckoning enigma. Her eyes, wide and entranced, fixed upon the glass as if drawn into another world by some unseen force. She swayed gently, as if caught in a mesmerizing dance with her own reflection. Her hand, trembling, reached forward toward the mirror's surface.

As her fingertips grazed the glass, she felt a strange and powerful sensation, like a current of electricity coursing through her veins. Slowly, imperceptibly, she began to fade, her form dissolving into the mirror's depths. In an instant, she had crossed over to the other side, leaving her original world behind.

In her place, there was no trace of her former self, as if she had never existed in that place. She stood now on the other side, still entranced, a serene smile playing on her lips. The white light that had surrounded her previous world slowly faded, revealing a room through the mirror unlike any she had ever known.

Her eyes scanned the unfamiliar surroundings, taking in the sight of book-lined shelves, discarded coffee cups, and the eclectic mix of antiques strewn about. Sheets were haphazardly thrown across her bed, and a sense of adoration and serenity washed over her as she regarded her old haven.

Still caught in the thrall of enchantment, she withdrew her outstretched hand and cast a final, wistful glance around the other side, as if bidding farewell to a world she could no longer recall.

In this strange new reality, she had no memory of who she was, or what her previous world had been like. It was as though her existence had been rewritten, her past erased and replaced by the mysteries of this otherworldly realm. Everything seemed perfectly normal here, as if this was the way it was meant to be—a part of the intricate clockwork of destiny guided by otherworldly deities.

But then, a sharp crack shattered the stillness, echoing through the room like the breaking of a mirror. In that moment, like a lightning bolt of remembrance, her past flooded back into her consciousness. She remembered who she was, the world she had left behind, and the electrifying truth that this was not the norm—this wasn't supposed to happen.

Elara Wetherson.

Yes, that's her name.

Elara Wetherson, now fully aware of her identity at twenty-one, stood in her peculiar room, her memories rushing back like a whirlwind of emotions. She remembered her life—the late-night study sessions, the laughter with friends, and the dreams of the future she hadn't yet lived.

But then, like a shadow looming over her newfound clarity, she remembered her death. No, not her death. But rather the fact that she was dead. How? She didn't know, but a chill in her bones screamed flames of senseless violence. Act of violence uncalled, whispering ominous secrets to her soul. Something in her told her, even if she tried to remember, she wouldn't, of how she died.

Now, she found herself trapped on the other side of the mirror, like a fish out of water. The room, a fusion of Victorian elegance and modern minimalism, was as perplexing as her current predicament. She thrummed her fists against the mirror, desperation welling up within her as she screamed for help, her voice echoing only in the confines of her own mind.

To her horror, her cries for help went unanswered in the original world. The mirror seemed impervious to her struggles, her fists having no effect on its solid surface. She was isolated, imprisoned within the Mirror of Death, a surreal and nightmarish existence.

Elara's mind raced as she grappled with the terrifying truth—she was a captive in a realm beyond comprehension, and her journey had only just begun. The mirror that had drawn her in now held her hostage, and the mysteries of this otherworldly dimension remained locked behind its enigmatic surface. She had to find a way out, but in this eerie, mirror-clad prison, escape seemed like an impossible dream.

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Author Note: this is my very first work, your support would be very much appreciated and loved.