Yuki stepped inside, her suitcase thumping softly against the tatami. Shadows danced along the walls, cast by the dim lamps, as she greeted her elderly aunt with a bow. The house felt both welcoming and eerie, as if secrets lingered in every corner.
Yuki lay awake, unable to sleep. The silence pressed against her ears, broken only by the distant cry of an owl. She caught herself glancing at the mirror, its surface reflecting more than just the shadows of the room.
Yuki sat up, heart fluttering. In the glass, her reflection blinked—but there was a delay, a strange lag as if something else was controlling it. The flicker became a ripple, and behind her, a dark figure slowly appeared, tall and indistinct, its form barely outlined by the silvery light.
Yuki[/@ch_1] moves, but its actions are exaggerated, uncanny, and its eyes seem to glow faintly.]
"Who's there?"
Her voice trembled, but the answer was only her own echo, warped by the glass. She squeezed her eyes shut and opened them again—yet the figure mimicked every gesture perfectly. Her breath fogged the mirror, and so did its.
Kei[/@ch_2], her cousin, is woken by hurried footsteps and the panicked voice of Yuki. The hallway is dim, lined with faded photographs and the scent of old wood.]
"Kei, wake up! There's something in the mirror!"
"Don't stare. Just... don't," he whispered, face suddenly pale after seeing the cracked, haunted glass. The fear was contagious, crawling up their spines as they retreated, leaving the door half open behind them.
No one dared approach the mirror, its fractured reflection scattering light in strange, unsettling patterns. The house felt different, quieter, as if holding its breath. From that day on, a whispered rule circulated: never look too closely at the mirror after 3:33 AM, because sometimes, the reflection isn’t your own.
