Veil of Shadows

Mirrors

Dangerous Temptation

The house felt different now—heavier, more oppressive. Every shadow seemed to whisper her name, a thousand voices murmuring things she couldn't understand, couldn't ignore. They fed on her fear, her doubt, her growing sense of alienation. It was as if the house itself was trying to pull her deeper into its embrace, to make her part of its darkness.

You don't belong here, Celeste. You'll never be good enough for him. You're weak. You're a monster waiting to surface.

The whispers were insistent, crawling into her mind, wrapping around her thoughts, twisting her perception of reality. She could feel the darkness pushing at the edges of her consciousness, a seductive pull that made her want to give in, to stop fighting. The house was offering her a different kind of power—a chance to embrace the parts of herself she had buried, the parts she feared.

Give in. Embrace the monster inside you. It's who you really are.

She clenched her fists, trying to block out the voices, but they only grew louder. She wanted to scream, to tear her hair out, to do anything to stop the overwhelming pull of the house. But it was useless. She could feel herself slipping.

Dean had been trying to reach her—had been there, his concern radiating through every word, every glance. But she couldn't let him in. She couldn't. The more he tried, the more distant she became. Because what if he saw? What if he realized that she wasn't the person he thought she was? That maybe, deep down, she wasn't even human anymore.

The thought gnawed at her, a constant weight on her chest.

It had been days since she'd really looked at him, really listened to him. She had shut herself off, retreating into the darkest corners of the house, avoiding his presence like a plague. She couldn't let him see the storm inside her. She couldn't let him see how close she was to breaking.

But the house wouldn't let her escape. It pushed her, it whispered, it called to her.

And then, one day, she found herself in front of a mirror. She didn't know how she got there. She just knew that she couldn't stop herself. It was as if the house was guiding her, urging her to step closer.

Her reflection seemed normal at first, but as she stared, it began to distort. Her eyes flickered, the color darkening to something feral, something dangerous. The woman in the glass wasn't her. She wasn't sure who it was.

This is you, the whispers cooed. This is who you've always been.

Her pulse quickened. Her breath hitched. She reached out, and as her fingers brushed against the glass, the surface rippled, pulling her in. Before she could stop herself, her body crossed the threshold of the mirror, and she was sucked into the world on the other side.

The air was thick with shadows, the walls stretching and warping in unnatural angles. Mirrors lined the halls, each one showing a different version of her—twisted, monstrous, or empty-eyed. Some of them grinned at her with sharp teeth, others wept with hollow eyes. All of them were wrong. But they were also familiar.

She didn't know when she started breaking them. Her hands ached as she slammed her fists into the glass, shattering one mirror after another. Blood seeped from her knuckles, but it didn't hurt. She didn't feel anything except the emptiness that had begun to consume her.

Break them all, the house whispered. Tear them down. Show the world who you really are.

And she did. She broke the mirrors, each one revealing a new, more grotesque version of herself. The more she shattered, the more she felt herself slipping, unraveling. Each strike was a release, a small bit of herself cracking away. She didn't feel pain, not really. But she felt something deeper—a hollow emptiness, a coldness that seeped into her bones.

Her hands were raw, bleeding, but still she continued. She couldn't stop. She didn't want to.

When she reached the last mirror, her reflection was no longer human. It was a creature—twisted, hollow-eyed, with a wide, predatory grin. The monster in the glass stared back at her, and for a moment, she thought she would scream. But she couldn't. All she could do was stare.

The whispers were louder now, a cacophony of voices filling her ears. They mocked her, laughed at her.

This is who you really are. You're not human. You never were.

Her hands trembled, the blood pouring from her torn knuckles, but still she couldn't feel the pain. The monster in the mirror wasn't just a reflection; it was her. It was all she would ever be.

Embrace it.

Her chest felt tight, like a vice was closing around her heart. She looked down at her hands—bloody, torn, and raw—but the emptiness inside her swallowed everything. She didn't feel the pain. She didn't feel anything.

Dean's voice cut through the haze, sharp and desperate.

"Celeste."

She didn't turn to him. She couldn't. The house had already claimed her. She was beyond saving.

His voice came again, softer this time, filled with something like pain. "Please, Celeste, come back to me."

His words made her heart ache, but they only made the darkness feel heavier. How could he love her when she wasn't even sure who she was anymore? How could he want her when she was so broken?

She wanted to scream. She wanted to tell him to leave, to forget her. But the words wouldn't come.

She couldn't bring herself to look at him. She didn't want him to see what she had become.

Dean stood in the doorway, his expression unreadable. His eyes—those piercing, intense green eyes—were filled with something like pain. He didn't move toward her, not yet. He was waiting.

She could feel the weight of his gaze on her, could feel him watching her, but she didn't want to turn around. She couldn't face him. Not like this.

"I'm not going anywhere," he said, his voice steady, though it trembled with an emotion she couldn't name. "You're not alone, Celeste. You don't have to be alone."

She wanted to believe him. She wanted to turn around and fall into his arms, to let him pull her from the abyss. But she couldn't. She couldn't let him see her like this. The darkness inside her was too much. Too consuming.

And, in that moment, she realized something that terrified her more than anything else.

She wasn't sure if she deserved his love. She wasn't sure if anyone could ever love someone like her. Because what if the monster in the mirror was who she truly was?

Her breath caught in her throat as the weight of it hit her. The house had succeeded. It had broken her, and she didn't know if she could be fixed.

Dean's voice was a whisper, soft and unsure.

"You don't have to do this alone. I'm here. Please... don't shut me out. Don't let it take you."

But Celeste didn't reply. She couldn't. The words felt like they were trapped inside her chest, locked away by the monster inside. And as the silence stretched between them, she realized that the one thing she feared more than the darkness was the possibility that she would never be good enough to deserve his love.

The house knew that, too.

And it would use that fear to tear her apart.