Story 1013: Through the Mirror Grave

The grave was not dug into soil but polished like glass, nestled in the ruins of an old chapel where time had rusted even the shadows. It stood upright, reflecting no one, only a warped and swirling version of the world behind it. Locals called it The Mirror Grave, and they dared not speak the names of those who went near.

But Talia Grimm, the mute child whose drawings predicted deaths, had sketched it one too many times.

In her charcoal-streaked notebook, the grave appeared again and again—always with her own shadow reaching toward it.

Solomon Wraith, weary and whisper-haunted, led Talia and the others to the chapel. The survivors were splintered, worn from their last encounter with the Crimson Spiral, and desperate for any answers. Talia pointed at the mirror, eyes wide but steady.

“She’s been seeing it for weeks,” Nara Hexley muttered, gripping her bone-handled knife. “But why now? What’s it want?”