The morning sunlight crept into Vivian’s room, but it felt cold, indifferent. She hadn’t slept. Her eyes were fixed on the mirror, still glowing faintly in the corner like an unblinking eye. The roses she’d seen within its reflection haunted her thoughts. They hadn’t just grown—they’d spread, creeping across the glass like veins, their petals alive with an unnatural pulse.

It wasn’t just the mirror. The feeling that something had taken root inside her was growing stronger. Her breaths were shallow, her chest heavy, as though thorns had wrapped around her lungs.

Sebastian was already awake when she found him in the study, pacing among his scattered books and notes. He looked up at her, his face tight with worry.

“You didn’t sleep,” he observed.

“Neither did you,” Vivian replied. She sat heavily in the chair opposite his desk, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. “Sebastian, the roses… They’re in the mirror. They’re spreading.”

His expression darkened. “In the mirror? Are you sure?”

Vivian nodded. “I saw them last night. They’re growing, like they’re alive. And I think—” She hesitated, her throat tightening. “I think they’re inside me too.”

Sebastian froze, his eyes narrowing. “What do you mean?”

“I can feel them,” she whispered, pressing a hand to her chest. “Like something’s taking root. It’s suffocating, Sebastian. I don’t know how to stop it.”

For a moment, he didn’t speak. Then he turned and began rifling through a stack of old journals. “I’ve been reading about this,” he said, his voice grim. “About objects tied to entities like the mirror. They leave marks—connections that bind them to people or places. If the roses are spreading, it means the mirror’s power is still active, still growing.”

Vivian’s stomach churned. “So what do we do?”

Sebastian pulled a leather-bound book from the pile and opened it, flipping through its brittle pages. “There might be a way to sever the connection,” he said. “But it won’t be easy. And it won’t be safe.”

The ritual was set to take place in the greenhouse, the one place on the estate that felt tied to the roses’ presence. By the time they arrived, the sun was sinking below the horizon, casting the glass walls in a blood-red glow.

Sebastian carried a bundle of supplies—candles, chalk, and a small vial of something dark and viscous. Vivian followed close behind, her unease growing with every step.

The rose was still there, its glow even more pronounced in the dim light. The petals seemed to ripple, as though stirred by an unseen breeze.

“Stand here,” Sebastian instructed, motioning to a spot near the center of the greenhouse. He began arranging the candles in a circle around her, his movements quick and precise.

“What happens if this doesn’t work?” Vivian asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian paused, his jaw tightening. “We’ll cross that bridge if we come to it.”

The ritual began with a low chant, Sebastian’s voice steady and deliberate. He poured the liquid from the vial onto the ground, its inky blackness seeping into the earth. The air grew heavy, charged with an energy that made Vivian’s skin crawl.

And then the roses began to bloom.

They erupted from the ground, from the walls, even from the ceiling, their glowing petals unfurling with unnatural speed. The scent was overwhelming, sickly sweet and suffocating.

“Sebastian!” Vivian cried, panic rising in her chest.

“Stay in the circle!” he shouted, his chant growing louder.

The roses continued to spread, their vines snaking across the floor toward the circle. One of them reached out, brushing against the edge of the chalk line, and hissed as though burned.

Vivian’s breathing grew ragged. The weight in her chest was unbearable now, the feeling of thorns tightening around her heart.

“It’s inside me,” she gasped, clutching her chest. “Sebastian, I can’t—”

“You can,” he said firmly, his voice cutting through the chaos. “You have to fight it, Vivian. It’s feeding on your fear, your doubt. Don’t let it win.”

Tears streamed down her face as she fell to her knees, her hands digging into the dirt. The roses were closing in, their petals brushing against the edge of the circle like hungry mouths.

And then she saw it.

In the center of the largest rose, nestled among its glowing petals, was the reflection. It stared at her, its eyes filled with a cruel, mocking light.

“You can’t escape me,” it said, its voice echoing in her mind. “I am you, Vivian. And you are mine.”

“No,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

The reflection tilted its head, its smile widening. “You’ve already let me in. Why fight it? Let me bloom.”

Vivian’s hand tightened around a shard of broken glass on the ground. Her reflection’s words echoed in her mind, taunting her, daring her to give in.

But she wouldn’t.

With a cry, she drove the shard into her palm, the pain sharp and grounding. Blood dripped onto the earth, and the roses recoiled, their glow dimming.

Sebastian’s chant reached a crescendo, and the air around them seemed to shatter. The roses withered, their petals crumbling into ash, and the reflection’s voice faded into silence.

When it was over, the greenhouse was quiet, the only sound the ragged rhythm of Vivian’s breathing.

Sebastian knelt beside her, his face pale but relieved. “You did it,” he said softly.

Vivian looked at her bloodied hand, the pain a dull throb. “Did we?”

Sebastian didn’t answer, his gaze drifting to the faint glow lingering in the corner of the room.

The roses were gone. But their shadow remained.

To be continued...