DaoistmWpSRT

Lila’s life was ordinary—at least, that’s what she told herself. Her bookstore, The Whispering Pages, was nestled between two towering buildings in the heart of the city, a quiet oasis in the sea of concrete and steel. The air inside always smelled of aged paper and wood, and the hum of whispered words seemed to fill the empty spaces, as if the books were talking to each other when no one was looking. It was a comforting routine: wake up, open the store, sort through forgotten manuscripts, and disappear into the world of stories. But there was one book she never quite understood, hidden deep in the back of the store: a mirror-bound tome that no one ever seemed to touch.

That was, until the night the mirror appeared. A delicate, antique frame, its surface smooth and unmarked. She found it leaning against the wall, where there had only been a shadow before. But it wasn’t just any mirror—it was a doorway. And through it, Lila would discover a world of magic and danger, of love that could shatter her reality, and of a man trapped between two realms, waiting for someone to unlock his curse.

Reflections of a hidden realm

Lila stood frozen, her breath caught in her throat. The mirror gleamed under the flickering light, its surface now empty—just a reflection of the dim bookshop, of her wide-eyed stare.

His voice still echoed in her mind, the urgency in it like a pulse beneath her skin.

She turned sharply, scanning the shop as if expecting someone—something—to step out of the shadows. But there was nothing. Just the whisper of rain against the glass, the scent of aged paper, and the undeniable sense that the world had shifted in a way she couldn't yet understand.

Her hands trembled as she reached for the cloth and threw it back over the mirror. It didn't matter if it helped or not—she couldn't look at it any longer.

She strode toward the front of the shop, grabbing her coat from the counter. She reached for her keys, but as her fingers closed around them, a sharp sting shot through her palm.

She yelped, jerking her hand back.

A thin, precise cut ran along the inside of her palm, a single bead of crimson welling along the wound.

She hadn't touched anything sharp. Hadn't done anything that would have caused—

It was a shape. A single, deliberate marking.

A small, looping curve with a line through it—like an old symbol from a forgotten language.

Lila's pulse roared in her ears. She rubbed at the cut, trying to wipe it away, but the shape remained. It wasn't deep, but it felt warm against her skin, like the remnants of an ember just before it faded into ash.

The man. The mirror. The way her hand had tingled the moment she touched the glass.

A part of her wanted to believe it was coincidence, that the wound was nothing more than a trick of her imagination. But she knew better.

Her grandmother's voice surfaced in her memory once again.

"He's trapped, child. He waits, always watching..."

Lila clenched her fist, heart hammering.

The mirror wasn't just some old artifact. It wasn't just a relic waiting to be dusted and sold. It was something else. Something tied to him.

And now—somehow—it was tied to her, too.

A gust of wind rattled the windows, making her flinch. The storm hadn't let up. If anything, it had grown stronger.

Lila exhaled, forcing herself to think. She couldn't just leave. Not yet.

Turning on her heel, she stalked back toward the covered mirror, determination settling into her bones.

Whatever had started tonight—whoever the man was— he seems so familiar

The Mark