The days following the mirror’s collapse passed in a strange haze. The house seemed lighter, less oppressive, as though the darkness that had clung to it had finally released its grip. But for Vivian, the weight hadn’t entirely lifted.

She sat by the greenhouse window one afternoon, the sun streaming through the glass and warming her skin. In her hands, she held one of the mirror’s shards. Its surface was dull now, no longer glowing or rippling with malevolence.

Sebastian entered quietly, a cup of tea in his hand. “You should let that go,” he said, nodding to the shard.

Vivian shook her head. “I can’t. Not yet.”

Sebastian sighed, taking a seat across from her. “What are you hoping to find in it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Answers, maybe. Closure. Something to make sense of it all.”

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “Sometimes things like this don’t make sense, Vivian. Sometimes, we just have to accept that they happened and move on.”

She looked at him, her expression unreadable. “But what if it’s not over? What if… what if it comes back?”

“It won’t,” he said firmly. “You destroyed the connection. The mirror is dead.”

Vivian wanted to believe him, but deep down, a part of her still felt the lingering presence of something unfinished.

That night, Vivian dreamed.

She was standing in the greenhouse again, but it wasn’t the same. The air was thick with fog, and the walls of glass were cracked, barely holding together. The ground beneath her feet was covered in ash, and the scent of burnt roses filled the air.

In the center of the greenhouse stood the mirror. It was whole again, its surface gleaming like liquid silver.

Vivian approached cautiously, her heart pounding. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to see what might be waiting for her on the other side.

But the mirror pulled her in, its surface rippling as her reflection appeared.

It wasn’t the malevolent version of herself she had battled before. It was just her—tired, worn, but undeniably her.

“You’re still afraid,” the reflection said softly.

“I’m not,” Vivian replied, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her.

The reflection tilted its head, a sad smile playing on its lips. “You are. You think it’s over, but you know better. You know it’s never really over.”

Vivian shook her head. “No. I ended it. I destroyed you.”

The reflection stepped closer, its hand pressing against the glass. “You destroyed a piece of me. But I’m part of you, Vivian. I always will be.”

Vivian woke with a start, her chest heaving. The room was dark, but the faint light of the moon filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the walls.

She sat up, running a hand through her hair. The dream had felt so real, so vivid.

Her eyes drifted to the shard of mirror on her nightstand. It seemed to gleam faintly in the moonlight, almost as though it were alive.

Vivian reached for it, her fingers brushing against its cold surface. For a moment, she thought she felt it pulse beneath her touch, like the faint beat of a heart.

She pulled her hand back quickly, her pulse racing.

The next morning, Vivian told Sebastian about the dream.

“It wasn’t just a dream,” she said, pacing the length of the study. “I think it was a warning.”

Sebastian frowned, his arms crossed. “Vivian, the mirror is gone. Whatever power it had is broken. You’re safe now.”

“Then why does it still feel like it’s watching me?” she snapped, her voice rising.

Sebastian hesitated. “Maybe it’s just in your head,” he said gently. “After everything you’ve been through, it’s natural to feel unsettled.”

Vivian stopped pacing, her hands clenching into fists. “I know what I felt, Sebastian. The mirror isn’t dead. It’s waiting.”

That evening, Vivian returned to the greenhouse. The place felt different now—emptier, quieter, but still holding the faintest echo of what had happened there.

She knelt in the spot where the ritual circle had been, her fingers brushing against the dirt. It felt cold, lifeless, as though the earth itself had been drained of vitality.

“I know you’re still here,” she whispered.

There was no response, no sign that anything was listening.

But as she stood to leave, she caught a glimpse of something in the corner of her eye.

A single rose had begun to bloom among the ashes. Its petals were dark, almost black, but edged with a faint, silvery glow.

Vivian’s heart stopped. She approached it slowly, her breath catching in her throat.

The rose was beautiful, fragile, and yet it pulsed with a quiet, ominous energy.

She reached out to touch it but stopped herself. The memory of the first rose, and everything it had unleashed, held her back.

Instead, she turned and ran, her mind racing with questions.

The mirror was gone. The connection was severed.

So why was the rose blooming again?

To be continued...