Reflections of the Lost Dawn

Chapter 1: The Forgotten Mirror

"The more we look backward, the less we see forward."

— Thomas Jefferson

The musty scent of old wood and dust clung to the air as I stepped into my grandfather's attic. I hadn't been up here in years—not since I was a child. The place felt more like a time capsule than a storage room, filled with relics of a life long past. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, maybe just a distraction from the growing emptiness I’d been feeling lately. The attic seemed as good a place as any.

I ran my fingers along the edge of an old bookshelf, the thick layer of dust proving that no one had touched it in a while. Most of the items here were mundane: boxes of old books, rusted tools, and forgotten photographs. But as I turned to leave, something caught my eye.

In the far corner of the attic, tucked behind a pile of old trunks, stood a mirror.

It wasn’t like the other junk up here. This mirror had an ornate, wooden frame, carved with intricate patterns that reminded me of something ancient, almost mystical. It looked like it didn’t belong in this world at all.

I wiped the dust from the glass, revealing my reflection, though something about it felt… off. My face was the same—same tired eyes, same unkempt hair—but the more I stared, the more I had the unsettling feeling that I wasn’t just looking at my reflection.

I don’t know why I reached out, but I did. My hand hovered just above the surface of the glass, fingers trembling slightly. There was a pull to it, like it was calling me, daring me to look deeper. I took a step closer, and that’s when I saw it.

The reflection shifted. Not in a way that was immediately obvious—no sudden, dramatic change—but subtle enough that I questioned if my mind was playing tricks on me. The room behind me, the one reflected in the glass, wasn’t the same as the one I stood in. It was brighter, cleaner, and there was something else—someone standing in the background.

A figure, faint and distant, almost blending into the shadows. My heart pounded as I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. The attic was just as empty as before. But when I looked back into the mirror, the figure was still there. Closer now.

I took a step back, my breath catching in my throat. What the hell was this? Was I dreaming? Hallucinating? But no matter how many times I blinked, the image in the mirror remained unchanged.

I turned away, forcing myself to look anywhere but the mirror. I could feel my pulse in my ears, the rapid beat of fear pounding in my chest. I tried to shake it off, convincing myself it was just a trick of the light, maybe fatigue getting the better of me. I hadn’t been sleeping much lately—maybe that was all this was.

But as I started to walk away, I couldn’t shake the pull. I glanced back at the mirror one more time, expecting the same eerie sight, but this time... it was just me again. My reflection. Alone.

I exhaled sharply, relieved but also confused. My fingers grazed the frame one last time before I turned away for good, but the sensation lingered—the unsettling feeling that the mirror wasn’t done with me yet.