The Thing in the Mirror

The fingers kept sliding through.

One by one.

Pale. Colorless.

Dripping with something Yiran couldn't understand.

Her chest tightened, breath caught between disbelief and terror.

This wasn't happening.

It couldn't be.

And yet—

It was.

The glass continued to stretch, pulling further outward—not breaking, not shattering—but releasing.

Letting it through.

And then—the reflection looked up.

Dark eyes locked onto hers.

The same shape. The same depth.

But not the same.

Not anymore.

Its lips curled.

The grin returned.

Familiar.

Wrong.

And then—it moved faster.

The fingers shot forward.

Reaching for her.

Yiran snapped out of it.

No.

She didn't think.

Didn't breathe.

Her body moved on instinct.

She lunged.

Her hands slammed against the mirror.

Shoving it closed.

The glass rippled violently, twisting under her touch.

For a second, she thought it wouldn't work.

That she was too late.

That it was already out.

Then—

The surface hardened.

The thing in the mirror froze.

Its fingers stopped moving.

Still stretched toward her.

Still reaching.

But trapped.

Its grin remained, but its eyes—

They flickered.

For the first time, Yiran saw it.

Something beneath the surface.

Something furious.

It hadn't expected her to fight back.

Her pulse slammed against her ribs.

The thing in the mirror tilted its head slightly.

Not struggling.

Not panicking.

Just—watching her.

And then—

It whispered.

Soft. Amused.

"…Next time."

Yiran stumbled back.

Her breath was ragged, her pulse slamming in her ears.

The mirror—

It was normal again.

No movement. No ripples.

Just her reflection, staring back at her.

Her own face.

Tense. Pale.

Shaken.

But… it was hers.

Wasn't it?

She swallowed, trying to calm the tightness in her chest.

The whisper still curled in her mind.

"…Next time."

Her stomach twisted.

There wouldn't be a next time.

She wouldn't let there be.

She exhaled, turning away—ready to leave, ready to shut this away.

But then—

She stopped.

Because there—on the glass.

The handprint.

Still there.

Pale. Smudged.

Pressed against the surface from the other side.

Yiran's breath stalled.

The thing in the mirror…

It had left a mark.

And that meant—

It had almost made it through.

Yiran's breath stayed shallow.

The handprint was still there.

A pale, smudged outline on the smooth glass—proof that what happened wasn't a dream.

She wanted to turn away.

To pretend it didn't exist.

But she couldn't.

Because if she ignored this, if she stayed silent—

What happens next time?

She swallowed, forcing her thoughts to steady.

She needed to tell someone.

But who?

The maids? No—they wouldn't question her, but they wouldn't have answers, either.

The Lu family elders? No—they would think she was losing her mind.

That left only one person.

Lu Zeyan.

Her chest tightened at the thought.

Would he even listen?

Or would he just smirk, dismiss her, make her feel like she had imagined all of it?

Yiran exhaled sharply.

It didn't matter.

She had to try.

Her hands curled into fists as she turned toward the door.

She would find him.

She would make him listen.

And if he already knew something about this—

She would make him tell her the truth.

Yiran moved quickly.

Not running.

Not panicked.

But with purpose.

She needed answers.

And she knew exactly who to get them from.

The hallways stretched quiet around her, the dim lighting casting long, creeping shadows against the polished floors.

But something about them felt different now.

Like she wasn't moving alone.

Like something—or someone—had been waiting for her to do this.

She reached Lu Zeyan's study and hesitated only for a second.

Then—she pushed the door open.

Lu Zeyan was already there.

Seated at his desk, one hand resting lazily on the armrest of his chair, the other holding a glass of dark amber liquid.

His posture was too relaxed.

As if he had been expecting her.

As if he already knew.

His dark eyes lifted to hers, cool and unreadable.

Yiran's breath stayed even, her pulse a steady drum beneath her skin.

Before she could speak—

Lu Zeyan did.

His voice was quiet.

Calm.

"Did it try to come through?"

Yiran's stomach dropped.

He knew.

Yiran's stomach twisted.

Did it try to come through?

Lu Zeyan's voice was calm.

Too calm.

Like this was just another conversation to him.

Like he already knew what she had seen.

Yiran took a slow step forward, her nails pressing into her palms. "You knew."

Lu Zeyan exhaled lightly, setting down his glass. "Of course."

Her pulse pounded.

"Since when?"

His lips curled slightly, but it wasn't amusement.

Not quite.

More like—mild interest.

"You weren't supposed to see it yet."

The words sent a chill down her spine.

Yet.

She inhaled sharply, forcing herself to stay steady. "What does that mean?"

Lu Zeyan leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping once against the desk.

"I was going to tell you eventually."

Her breath hitched.

Tell her what?

What exactly had she walked into?

What exactly had she married into?

Yiran swallowed against the rising unease in her chest.

Her voice was quiet, but sharp.

"Tell me now."

For the first time, Lu Zeyan actually studied her.

Not as a wife.

Not as a pawn.

As something else.

Something he hadn't expected to be standing here demanding answers.

The moment stretched.

Then—

He smirked.

Not playful.

Not cruel.

Just—knowing.

And finally, he spoke.

"Alright."