Kiss of the Cursed

The moment Selene stepped into the mirror-lit chamber, the air turned thick with heat and grief.

Each mirror shivered—not with glass, but with breath. They were watching her.

Alina moved to stand beside her, but the glass closest to her cracked.

Only Selene could pass.

"She knows your face," the girl from the East murmured.

Selene nodded and stepped forward. Each step she took, one of the mirrors shimmered—and a version of her blinked into being.

Selene with flames for hair. Selene cloaked in shadows. Selene crying blood. Selene crowned in thorns.

Every version spoke in unison: "You left us here."

Selene trembled. "I didn't remember."

"You chose not to."

A voice—not like the others—broke through the mirror in front of her.

Narael.

She was taller now. Made of reflections. Her lips curled into something that might've been a smile, or a snarl.

"You remember me now," she said. "So what will you do?"

"I came to end this," Selene whispered.

Narael reached through the mirror. Her hand passed through glass like water and gripped Selene's throat.

"You came to replace me."

Glass shattered.

Alina screamed.

And Selene vanished—dragged through the mirror.